Dreaming of Rain
by 23Sammy
Summary: "Is this it?" She suddenly felt like dying, dread and sadness settling so heavy in her heart, she almost expected Jane to gasp at the unexpected gain of weight on top of him. "Is this what?", he asked. He could barely hear her over the sound of rain on the roof. "Is this... what you've lost?" - Ties into "Dreaming of White", but can be read separately. Established Jisbon.
1. Silent Conversations

A/N: This is sort of a sequel to "Dreaming of White", but even if you haven't read that, this should still make sense. All you need to know is that Pike is gone and Jane and Lisbon are a couple, but haven't told anyone yet. If you have read "Dreaming of White": Thank you so much and sorry for the delay, still a bit in shock over all those spoilers and life has been hectic. This is the story that ties into chapter 9, where he said he needed to show her something about the airstream. Something that requires lying down ;-). It's a little fluffy, a little m-ish further down the line (sorry, that crept in again without warning) and also hopefully a little funny and serious. And I've been carrying this around in my head for far too long, so I'll try to get it out as fast as I can now and I really hope you like it.

* * *

The morning outside the window was dark. So was Teresa Lisbon's mood. For various reasons. The first one was entitled "HSBJ-04-14 — Amended and revised guidelines briefing 101" and would take up the better part of her Saturday. The second one was called "Ben Britten — not the composer, but an artist familiar with keys and notes nevertheless, if you get my drift" and was in charge of presenting pages 1 to 56 to a room full of grumpy FBI-employees squeezed into shiny new student chair desks. The third reason went by the name of Patrick Jane and was currently having a cosy nap five smelly and uncomfortable plastic-seats to her right. At least that was what he had done, when she had last looked at him twenty minutes ago.

Since then she had needed all her concentration and patience not to doze off herself. And to suppress the urge to wriggle out of the plastic-chrome-fake-wood-torture-device that was the "Streamline BR5699 TM" and hurl it against the window.

The first time she had thrown office furniture, it had felt quite liberating — even though she'd never admitted that. But since this was the FBI, the chair would probably just bounce off the bullet-proof window, knock Britten's hand sideways, making the beam of his laser-pointer hit Abbott's glasses, where the lenses would act as a mirror and intensify and reflect the beam, so that at the end of its new trajectory, it would hit Fischer's disposable coffee-cup, slicing it open, making her jump up, thus knocking over the chair next to her and annoyingly handsome sleepy Jane with it.

_Oooohhhh…_

This suddenly sounded like a *very* good plan.

It also sounded like she was not really awake yet and had spent way too much time with Jane recently, if her imagination made her come up with something *this* ridiculous. God, she needed to get a grip.

Lisbon stifled a yawn and nudged her pen on the desk a little towards the top, so it was was perfectly aligned with the edge. It sat there for a satisfyingly orderly second and then started rolling happily back towards her.

She frowned at it.

Lack of sleep — courtesy of annoyance-reason number three — and the less than gripping subject matter provided by annoyance-reason number one were making her drowsy and impatient. Reason number two and the torture device she was sitting in, gave her a headache. It was a lethal combination.

Thankfully the pen was immune to death by glare and chose neither to melt or crumble to dust or spontaneously combust. It did, however, choose not to move any more. Just in case.

Lisbon tried to focus on the waves of sound, endlessly rolling across a sea of heads and papers and coffee-cups and chairs towards her. Contained within the sounds were actual words, Lisbon was well aware of that, but with every new wave crashing against her already aching skull, it became more difficult to make them out.

"… implementing these regulations to optimise…. inter-agency efficiency… studies showing a 45 % increase…"

It was not really helpful, that the tall, thin man behind the words apparently had a serious respiratory problem. Every sentence came out as one long wheezing noise, frequency and volume constantly changing, making him sound like the siren of a police car suffering from laryngitis. Lisbon watched him, fascinated by the way his head inched forward every time he wheezed out a word and inched back almost with pride once the word had been successfully released into the room.

He looked like a pigeon.

When, at one point, he cocked his head sharply to the side and blinked rapidly, she had to look away,  
before the image burnt itself into her mind.

Speaking of things burning into things.

She didn't have to look to know that Jane had woken up and was now fixing his gaze on to her hand, following it up to her neck, watching her fingers trying to massage a particularly nasty spot of pain away. She also didn't have to look at him to know he was frowning at her. Ever since Barnes Mountain, the wolf-trap, the snow-storm and all the things that had happened in the cabin, he had a tendency to be a little overprotective. Which usually annoyed her, but right now she was glad for it. Because as long as he was concentrating on her headache — or rather on finding creative and enjoyable ways for them to make it go away later — he wasn't trying to sabotage this briefing.

At least not yet.

It was the kind of briefing that was dry and long and never had any bearing on actual field work, but attendance during the first part was mandatory for everyone working in the field — simply for insurance reasons. So Abbott had made it clear to Jane that if _someone_ didn't attend, that might lead to _someone_ being out of the team soon. Jane on the other hand had made it clear to Abbott, that if _someone_ was forced to attend against their will, that might lead to _someone_ being out of their mind soon.

Abbott had assumed Jane had been referring to himself.  
Lisbon had not.

The man in front of them gave a loud series of wheezes, indicating he'd just made a joke. Feet scratched linoleum under tables, chairs creaked, throats were being cleared as everyone scrambled into all sorts of embarrassed evasive actions so they didn't have to pretend to laugh. Only one person sat completely still. Lisbon shot an alarmed sideways glance at Jane and found his attention had shifted away from her. He was now grinning broadly at Britten.

Like the proverbial cat.

_Shit._

Birdy Britten wheezed happily on, unaware of the predator lurking in his vicinity.

"Can we now turn to page 24…"

Lisbon locked her eyes on Jane, forcing him to turn his head towards her. He raised his eyebrows at her innocently and shrugged. She held his gaze, didn't blink, didn't move, until he rolled his eyes, set his elbows on the table and laid his head in his hands in defeat. Lisbon tried not to smile at the quite adorable boyishness of the scene, unable to stay angry him, when he looked like *that*. Jane's lips twitched into a small smile, the moment hers did.

And he knew it. _Bastard._

When Jane had actually shown up this morning, Abbott had made a happy and proud remark to Lisbon that he was glad his calm but firm words were "finally getting through to the man." What had *actually* gotten through Patrick Jane's stubborn skull, was her less calm but equally firm threat regarding the probable cancellation of dinner and related activities, if he didn't get his ass in here on time.

Of course she hadn't told Abbott.  
Although now, she was tempted to.

Because that man was reason number four for her dark mood and currently in the process of driving her insane. For the better part of an hour he had scratched and tapped his pen on a white sheet of paper in front of him. Not doodling, not taking notes, just tapping. And scratching. Always the same rhythm. Never ending.

_Scratch, tap, tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, scratch, tap. Tap, tap. Scratch, tap. Scratch, scratch, tap._

Combined with the wheezing siren noises of the bird-man, the dark skies outside, the still very possible possibility that boredom could get the better of Jane and make him do something stupid, plus a general lack of caffeine in her system, she found she was now unexpectedly the one slowly going out of her mind.

_Scratch, tap, tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, scratch, tap. Tap, tap. Scratch, tap. Scratch, scratch, tap._

Someone started to slide around his seat, adding awkward squeaky noises to the mix. Someone else started to cough. Her tormented brain decided at this point to supply her with the happily insane image of Britten suddenly starting to rap to the annoying office-boom-box-sounds around her.

Lisbon closed her eyes, wrestling with the annoyance and the impatience and the pain, telling herself that once this day was over, there was the prospect of dinner and laughter and — eventually — even sleep. The real prospect of actually falling asleep. She tried to picture that moment, when the world slowly retreated, when the sounds of cars passing by, the humming of the fridge in the kitchen, the ticking of the bedside clock, all slowly drifted away into silence, until the only sound left, was the sound of a slow but steady heartbeat beneath her ear. That moment, when in the darkness, motions and movements became insubstantial, already dreamlike, a far away feeling of a soft tingling along her spine, her shoulders, her collarbone, until even the ghost of a touch was gone and the last sensation left, before sleep finally claimed her, was the feeling of Jane's warm breath on her neck.

The image burst, as a ripping, tearing, crunching sound to her right crashed against her skull, followed by an obnoxious smell lazily wafting over to her. Chips. Vinegar and garlic. Of course. Lisbon's head responded accordingly to the unexpected stimulation to her sense of smell: It increased the pain. And invited her stomach to join the fun.

_Oh, for heaven's sake, damn it!_

She opened her eyes again, when she felt Jane's attention on her and looked at him. He frowned.

_Whoa._

She raised an eyebrow.

_What?_

He tilted his head.

_Language, Lisbon, language._

She lifted her hands off the desk for a moment in a helpless gesture.

_This is driving me mad._

He grinned and gave an almost imperceptible nod towards the door.

_Want me to get us out of here?_

She straightened up in alarm.

_No! No!_

He tilted his head a little.

_Sure? I could. Would only take a minute…_

Green eyes burning into blue.

_Don't you dare._

The corners of his mouth twitched.

_It would be fun._

She leaned a little to her right, alert, silent, slow, like a cat ready to pounce.

_Jane…_

He leaned back and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

_Alright, alright, I won't. Unless you say the word._

He shrugged, lifted a finger to point at the row in front of them.

_Abbott wouldn't mind. He clearly feels the same way._

Her frown deepened.

_What?_

He drummed his fingers on the desk.

_He's doing morse code with his pen. It's a cry for help, Lisbon._

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him, then frowned again.

_It's not. It's just annoying. And driving me insane. Wait? Morse code?_

A simple nod.

_Yeah._

A shake of the head.

_That's stupid. You're making this up._

When the person to her left cleared his throat, Lisbon looked away from Jane and shifted her attention towards him. Cho slid his notepad over to her. It read:

-... - .-. .. -. -. = boring

And underneath it. "Couldn't agree more."

She turned back to Jane, who gave her a pleading look, shrugged, tapped the desk with two fingers and finally lifted them to point in Cho's direction.

_See, morse code. And Cho thinks we should act as well._

She rolled her eyes.

_Leave Cho out of this conversation._

_Technically, we are not having a conversation, although…_

_Oh, shut up!_

_I haven't said a single word…_

_Oh, you know what I mean._

_I do. This is fun, by the way. So, do you want me to…_

_You…_

"Any questions? Anyone? Agent Abbott? Agent Lisbon?"

Lisbon blinked herself away from her silent conversation with Jane.

"Uh… no, Sir."

Agent Britten cocked his head sharply, clearly noticing her confused expression.

"Are you sure?"

Lisbon gave him a sunny smile and an eager nod. Someone behind her chuckled, but lucky for that person, she couldn't make out who it was.

"Yes, sir. No questions. You explained it very well."

He clapped his hands and strode to his laptop to load the next page of his keynote-presentation.

"Excellent! Then on to the next topic, which concerns the consumption of food and beverages during working hours. The revised list of forbidden substances includes Romulan Ale — just kidding — it's.… "

_Scratch, tap, tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, scratch, tap. Tap, tap. Scratch, tap. Scratch, scratch, tap._

_Crunch. Squeak._

A hand holding a silvery plastic bag slid into view, accompanied by the unmistakable odour of vinegar and garlic. The hand jiggled the bag in front of her face, the smell and crunchy noise now accompanied by an equally crunchy voice.

"Want one, Lisbon? They're amazing."

"No thanks, Miller."

The bag jiggled again.

"Sure?

The bag was now right under her nose. She pushed the hand and the bag away.

"Yeah. Thanks."

The bag retreated, but naturally the smell stayed where it was. Lisbon was tempted to raise her hand and ask Britten if by any chance vinegar and garlic chips were on that list. She felt sick.

Lisbon took a deep breath to calm herself down, before she remembered what the air around her smelled like. She let the breath out through her mouth as fast and silently as possible without screaming or coughing, both of which she was tempted to do. God, her head hurt.

_Scratch, tap, tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, scratch, tap. Tap, tap. Scratch, tap. Scratch, scratch, tap._

Two more hours of this? How was she going to survive two more hours of this? She took another breath, this time slow and flat and through her mouth, then equally slowly turned her head to the right and looked up, a little hesitant, but unable to stop herself.

_Jane?_

_Yes, love?_

_Uh…._

_Ok._

_Wait! Wait! That wasn't *the word*… Jane!_

But he had already turned away and before she could stop him, he was out of his seat with one swift motion and an excited expression on his face, that reminded Lisbon of a golden retriever who finally got his human to throw that bloody rubber ball. But to rope in an excited dog you usually only needed a firm voice or food. She knew neither would work with an excited Jane. At least not in this instance. Lisbon's mood turned from dark to black. Maybe she should have gotten a dog instead of a boyfriend…


	2. Statistically-oriented Projections

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews on chapter 1. Here's the next one. Which took all day to write. I so wish English was my native language. Sometimes it takes way too long to find the right words *sighs*. But since I have a few days off, I do have a lot of time on my hands, so chapter 3 will probably follow on Wednesday :)

* * *

Jane suspected he would regret returning to reality, even before the first words reached his waking mind. When they did and turned out to be "bilateral work stoppage", his suspicions turned to hard fact. He took a deep breath, folded his hands and slid them up to the edge of the desk. This briefing was still tedious, boring and no fun at all. Which wasn't a surprise, really. He closed his eyes again, trying to return to the nice dream he'd had, which was really just a continuation of the very real events from last night and featured…

"…a statistically-oriented projection of the significance of these findings…"

He hung his head low and gave a silent snort.

_And now every sexy thought in the room died, because of a killer-sentence, that basically just means: "It's a wild guess. But it might be right." Fantastic._

He raised his head and started looking around the room, spotting about a dozen mourners at first glance. After a second glance he found himself scowling severely at an agent two rows in front of him for almost a minute, when he realised both their (dead) dreams had featured the same basic plot and the same principal actress. He made a mental note to find some very irksome but non-lethal punishment for the guy later. For now he needed to find something to do, before his mind went the way of his dreams.

Even with his superior mental powers he knew trying to resurrect his previous dream was not an option, so he decided that if he couldn't fantasise about kissing Lisbon, he would just have to settle for looking at her from a distance. Well, glancing at her from time to time. He knew from experience that if she caught him actually *looking*, she'd throw a temper tantrum later.

He unfolded his hands and unconsciously started tapping his right thumb on the inside edge of his right index finger, then moved on to the same spot on the next finger and the next, trying to figure out what the right glance-ignore-ratio and timing was in this kind of scenario. He needed to be much more careful now. He'd noticed that since they got together, she suddenly managed to catch most of the things, he'd gotten away with before. It made him happy, because it meant there was no perception filter between them anymore. She saw him. Even when he didn't want her to. And even that made him happy.

The feeling made him smile and cast a careful glance in her direction. The smile turned into a frown when he realised she had a headache. That wasn't good. He needed to take care of that later. And be extremely careful not to annoy her before that.

Which of course he managed to do only a few minutes later.  
Without actually saying or doing anything.

That must be some kind of record, he thought after Britten had interrupted their silent conversation. Frustrated, he put his head in his hands and released the air from his lungs in one long exasperated huff. He knew Fischer, who was sitting next to him, would take it as a sign that he was just bored.

"I know it's not the most intriguing of subjects, but it's important", she whispered to him sideways. Her eyes were still fixed on Agent Britten.

Jane tried hard not to roll his. Or raise his eyebrows.

Fischer really seemed to enjoy this briefing. Which was odd. Unless…  
He looked closer. Then grinned. Ah.

She knew Britten. Interesting. Unusual. But interesting.

He looked back at Lisbon, who's mood had deteriorated further — probably because of him. Which annoyed him immensely, because he actually hadn't done anything wrong. He'd shown up on time — against his better judgement — and hadn't interrupted the bloody show even once. Not with shouting, not with pulling the fire alarm, not with starting a brawl. Which he still could, all he needed to do was to slip either Agent Hennings or Cole one row in front of him a small note with an animal name on it and…

He folded his hands again and forced his fingers to stay still. He wished he could do that with his mind as well. He tightened his grip.

Point was, he was on his best behaviour and had no intention to crash this party by executing any kind of wild but highly amusing plan. Because that would ultimately spoil the tiny part of the day when it was just the two of them and no one else. He knew the headache and lack of sleep were making her edgy and irritable, but he had to admit, he was rather annoyed, that on some days she was still afraid and nervous that every move he made would turn into an elaborate con or a circus act.

Granted, there had been a few of either in recent weeks, but in his defence, it was only to keep their relationship under the radar for now — at her request.

Okay, maybe, just maybe he'd had a bit too much fun with this and some of his plans had been a bit too elaborate from time to time.

Like when he messed with the hotel reservations two weeks ago, so that he and Lisbon had two adjoining rooms in a nice quiet hotel with a shared balcony, exquisite room service and a fantastic view of the ocean, while everyone else suddenly found themselves squeezed into tiny beds the shape of rockets, in a space-themed-family hotel with screaming kids firing noisy plastic space-guns around every corner, fries and coke for breakfast and the highway just outside the door.

Or the time when they were late and he created an elaborate traffic jam covering both their routes to work, so it was still plausible for them to arrive at the same time. Apparently it had clogged up the inner city of Austin until the early afternoon.

So, yes, considering this and a few other incidents, he was sometimes not as subtle as he probably should have been, but Pike had been gone for a month now and even though he understood the other reasons for Lisbon's reluctance to say anything to anyone, he was getting a little impatient.

Because right now, all he wanted to do was get up, head over to her seat, put his hands on her shoulders and massage the headache away before it had the chance to become a full-blown migraine. But that was out of the question.

She looked up at him then, eyes tired, weary and trying to hide a plea for help.

He was out of the chair like a flash.

Fischer looked up in alarm. Cho scribbled something in his notebook. Abbott kept tapping his bloody pen against the paper, this time in an even more desperate rhythm.

_Tap, tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, tap, tap._

While Fischer settled down again, after giving him a slight frown, Lisbon kept staring at him, her expression one of absolute horror and somehow incredibly funny and adorable at the same time. With every step he took in her general direction, she got more fidgety, first half-rising from the seat, then, realising that until now, except for Fischer, no one had taken any notice of him getting up, slumping back down into it, hands clasped together, fingers tied in a complicated, nervous knot.

When he passed her chair, the temptation to reach down, carefully untangle her fingers and press a kiss to her forehead was almost too much. In the end, for the purpose of self-preservation and continued romantic happiness, he confined himself to a short smile and a whisper.

"Don't worry."

After the words of doom had stopped bouncing around her aching head, she stared at his back, watching almost in slow motion, as he squeezed through the small space between two chairs to get to the row in front, then carefully made his way over to Abbott.

_Oh, no._

Abbott looked up while Jane leaned down and whispered something to him. Lisbon could swear Jane didn't touch the man, but when he straightened up and turned around, that familiar broad boyish grin he always wore when he managed to pickpocket someone crept into his face. Lisbon craned her neck to get a better view of Abbott. The boss just sat there, blinking in confusion, first at his suddenly empty hand, then after a moment at Jane's retreating back.

Lisbon slid a few inches down in her chair, cheeks reddening. But Abbott didn't turn around, just shook his head in something close to amused admiration and and shrugged, folded his arms in front of his chest and leaned back with a sigh.

Meanwhile Jane had squeezed back into their own row. He didn't look at her as he passed by, instead stared at Miller, until the other man looked up. Jane leaned down.

"Do you think they'll feed us any time soon?"

"Nah. Never. You need to bring something to keep you going."

"Wish I had known that. God, I'm hungry."

"Want some?"

The silvery plastic bag reappeared in Miller's hand.  
Then it was gone.  
Miller stared at his empty fingers.

Jane was ducking his head low, walking backwards, giving him a grateful look and a smile and shook the bag. It made a happy rustling sound.

"Thanks man, you're a life-saver. I owe you. Pizza. Burger. Four course dinner. Whatever you want."

Lisbon watched Jane slide back into his seat, stretching out his legs. He grinned at her and winked, then carefully put Abbott's pen into his pocket.

Lisbon shot him a small, grateful smile and shook her head, when he gave her his fully licensed "I'm offended that you thought I'd do something stupid"-expression.

Then he flashed her a broad grin, before happily stuffing some chips into his mouth.

She needed to remind him to brush his teeth later.

Later. That still seemed way too far away. Two more hours of this, then a short break and another four hours on new and revised regulations regarding the use of firearms and arresting and securing suspects. And probably also on what kind of shoes to wear while doing it. Since neither carrying firearms nor making arrests applied to Jane and he still didn't have a selection of shoes to choose from anyway, he would be allowed to skip this one. For which she was truly thankful. Even though part of her was touched and thankful for the rescue and the fact that he had kept it low-key, another part had noticed that whirl of excitement deep in his eyes, when he'd jumped up. She knew it wouldn't take long for it to bubble up to the surface, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. And when it did, she hoped he was already home, so he could put his energy into fixing an elaborate three-course-meal instead of being here and giving into the temptation to pluck Britten's feathers.

"…seemingly non-threatening and harmless, but considering said substances can be used in combination with…Kik-kik-kik!"

Lisbon blinked at Britten. It took her a second to realise that the shrill bird noise at the end of his last sentence had not come from his mouth, but from his jacket-pocket.

Britten's shoulders twitched and his glasses became a little misty, as an embarrassed heat spread over his face.

"Sorry about that."

He fumbled the shrilling phone out of his pocket.

"Kik-kik-kik!"

"What the hell is that infernal noise?" Lisbon asked with a groan.

"His phone", Cho offered.

She rolled her eyes. "Right. Thanks."

"Asian Koel"

"What?"

"Basically: A cuckoo."

"Ah."

Britten managed to kill the ringtone, then cleared his throat and started sidestepping slowly and a little wobbly towards the door, like a bird on a wire.

"Sorry. I need to make a call… slight problem, we might have to rush through the rest… For now: How about a 15 minute break everyone?"

Before anyone had a chance to answer, Agent Britten had flapped away and out of the door. Cho got up and stretched with a sigh, then patted Lisbon's shoulder.

"Tell Jane, the next beer is on me."

By the time she reached Jane, who stood in the corridor and frowned at the clouds outside the window, she had banked a couple of more offers of coffee, tea, beer and other assorted alcoholic beverages on his behalf, received one substantial financial offer if for some reason the rest of the briefing didn't come to pass and been asked to pass along two invitations to dinner and "possibly more".

It hadn't helped to brighten her mood.

He frowned at her. "You are in pain."

"And you are in trouble."

He leaned against the window. His suit was the same colour as the clouds outside which for some reason made her mind erase the window-pane from the picture. For an impossible second it seemed as if he might fall into the dark morning sky. It made her dizzy and she looked away, before she could give in the urge to grab him.

She felt his fingers curl around her elbow as he gently manoeuvred them away from the window and to the other side of the corridor, where the dark sky was replaced with a solid white wall.

"Am I? Why?"

"Britten."

"What about him?"

"That phone-call. What was that about?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Yes you do!"

He shook his head. "No, I don't."

He leaned his back against the wall, rubbed his chin thoughtfully and gestured in the general direction of Britten's path of flight.

"I could venture a *guess*, but it would be a really wild guess. I couldn't see his eyes behind the misty glasses. His body language was erratic and twitchy, but that doesn't mean anything. It was the same as he talked about how not to reheat packed lunches more than once. So you see, this would just be a hunch and not based on any evidence…"

"Wow, that is shocking…no _evidence_!"

"Yes, I know, but…"

He pushed himself off the wall and craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Britten. Lisbon crossed her arms in front of her chest and studied his face, trying hard to determine whether he was just acting or generally trying to spot the man. When she didn't come to any kind of result after a few seconds, she rolled her eyes at him and sighed.

"Come on then, lets have it."

He kept looking over her shoulder, eyes scanning the space behind her.

"Lets have what?", he asked distractedly.

"Your hunch", she replied with a sigh of defeat. He kept looking past her, face screwed up in concentration, eyes narrow.

"Favourite homing pigeon is missing."

She punched him in the arm.

He laughed and leaned back against the wall with one shoulder, crossing one foot over the other. A perfect picture of relaxed handsomeness, straight out of a fashion catalogue.

Show-off.

He dimmed the 100 megawatt smile down to the brightness of a cosy bedside-lamp and gave her an apologetic shrug, when she refused to blush, faint, sigh or show any other cliched reaction at his attempt to distract her with his (undeniably) good looks and instead kept glaring at him.

"Sorry about that. If that were the case, he'd already be out of here. But since it's got something to do with time and he was more embarrassed then emotionally upset, I guess it's a simple mix-up in his schedule, so that was probably his secretary on the phone."

Lisbon sighed, let her head fall back against the wall, closed her eyes and mumbled: "What's her name?"

Jane gave her a curious look.

"Whose name?"

She kept her eyes closed, didn't move her head.

"The secretary."

He shrugged.

"Rosemary?"

"Ha! Got you!" Lisbon pushed herself off the wall and stabbed his chest with a finger.

He cast a quick glance over her shoulder, then caught her hand with his, leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss on the top of her hand. She wrenched her hand out of his grip and glared at him.

He chuckled.

"Honestly, Lisbon, I am flattered that you think I'm *this* good, that I can deduce the name of his secretary from his eye movements while he's checking out who's calling…"

"Did you?"

"… or that by knowing he is the kind of man who doesn't want a young woman working for him, but someone with experience and old-fashioned work-ethics, I can put her into a certain age and social group and just pick one of the three most common first names in that category in this region of the US, so I've got a 33 percent chance of being correct…"

"Jane…."

Her tone was dangerously close to a growl now, her muscles strained. She was almost ready to pounce him. And not in the good kind of way. He leaned in a little closer.

"Okay, fine, fine. I will tell you how I know."

He beckoned her closer and even though she knew it was a bad idea, she automatically leaned in. His face was only inches away from hers and she felt her body wanting to move in closer still until his familiar scent and warmth was all around her. But she resisted the magnetic and emotional pull and just gave him a curious and stern look. He held her gaze, then shrugged a little disappointed.

"Truth is, I don't actually."

This time she did growl. And push him away from her. He laughed.

"Seriously, Lisbon. I have no idea who called and why, it's just a lucky coincidence."

"There's no such thing as a lucky coincidence. You called the secretary and messed with his schedule didn't you? Damn it, Jane, they can trace that call back to you, you realise that?"

"First of all: I did not and second of all, even if I did: Trace the call? Seriously? Because of a prank? That's a bit… much. Even for the humourless FBI"

"So you *did* have something to do with this!"

He sighed and threw his hands in the air.

"I did not."

"Oh, come on, Jane. Don't give me that look!"

"What look?"

"That innocent puppy look. That won't work anymore."

He leaned a little closer in again and whispered in a low seductive voice.

"Worked fine last night…"

She blushed and slapped his arm with the back of her hand, then hissed.

"Stop it! This isn't funny!"

The smile disappeared and he stepped back, his face now serious and hard, his voice quiet, but with an irritated edge to it that hadn't been there before.

"No, you're right, actually it's not. None of this is. It's not funny that you're not well and I'm not allowed to do anything about it."

"Don't be such a drama queen. It's not the end of the world, it's just a headache…"

He made a wild gesture with his hand, pushing her objection aside.

"It's not funny that I'm still supposed to pretend not to care as much as I do, just because the FBI *might* have a problem with it, if I did. Because the other reason for keeping this quiet disappeared weeks ago, didn't it?"

She took a step towards him, eyes blazing, angry patches of red appearing on her cheeks and neck. She hissed at him angrily.

"I knew this would happen sooner or later. You promised…"

He held up his hands, trying to ease his voice back into neutral territory.

"I did. And I get it and I'm keeping my promise, I'm just saying sometimes it's not easy, Teresa."

"You think this is easy for me?"

She pointed into the crowd of FBI-agents at the other end of the corridor.

"Just now two women asked me to pass on dinner invitations and other "rewards" for bringing this briefing to an early close."

He rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated and angry now.

"As if I cared. And for the last time, I did not bring this briefing to an early close!"

"The whole room thinks you did! Why can't you for once just not *do* that!"

"I didn't *do* that! And I don't care what the whole room thinks. I only care what *you* think."

She cast her eyes down, struggling now, somehow not able to look at him. This was suddenly turning into a mess. And she couldn't think straight. Her head was pounding. When she didn't say anything, he shook his head sadly and said quietly.

"And what you think right now hurts."

"Patrick…"

But he had already turned around and walked away. Lisbon pushed her head against the wall, welcoming the sharp pain in the back of her skull. She hated this day. Every single second of it.

When Britten ushered them back into the room a few minutes later, both of them slid silently back into their seats, careful not to look into the general direction of the other. Cho raised an eyebrow at Lisbon.

"You ok?"

"Fine. Just a headache."

He went back to his notepad. She thought she'd heard him snort, just before he started writing, but wasn't really sure. She stared at her desk, her anger dissipating fast and being replaced by something close to guilt. Jane was right. She should have believed him. And she suddenly found it hard to remember why she hadn't. Because of that excitement in his eyes? Or had she actually believed him and ignored the feeling just because experience told her that he *used* to lie to her all the time before? But was that really still relevant? Before? He never had since. And even if he had called bloody Rosemary. He'd probably done it just for her sake. Which was actually quite sweet. That thought made her lower her head in her hands. This day was a awful. And still endless.

After one very long half hour, Jane finally decided it was save to look at her again. He had wanted to do so about five seconds after he'd slid back into his chair, but hadn't dared to. If she was still angry, he'd only provoke her and if she felt guilty he'd only make that worse as long as the tiniest bit of hurt still lingered in his eyes. Now, thirty minutes later, it was gone, replaced again by worry. Even before he'd calmed down, he knew she hadn't really meant it, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

He sometimes found it still equally amazing and difficult that simple things hurt again. Like that. Just as he found it difficult that simple things made him happy again. Alive. Two sides of the same coin. It was a good thing. Both.

Though naturally he liked the happy, smiley side much better.

He glanced across foreheads and noses and shoulders towards her now, determined to flip that coin, so it would land on the right side. When he saw her hunched and huddled into her seat, head in her hands, eyes hidden, face pale, he flinched. He needed to do something. No matter if she liked it or not. He tore his gaze away from her and started looking around the room, eyes shining with energy, a small smile on his lips, when they locked onto something promising. Britten chirped happily on through the presentation, but Jane didn't pay him any attention until his ears started to pick up the words:

"Thank you for your attention."

Once they had, he was out of his seat and out of the room in twenty seconds.

Lisbon had meant to catch him on his way out and apologise, but he was striding out of the room fast, without looking in her direction. Before she could wriggle out of her chair, he was gone. Hovering halfway in and out of her seat for a moment, she cursed, then, realising how ridiculous she probably looked, with her backside suspended in the air like that, she sat back down with a growl. She hated it when they fought. And she hated it even more when they didn't get to resolve the issue right away.

Not that she feared he might leave her, she'd gotten rid of that particular fear for good on a grey winter morning, in a silent kitchen at a cabin high up on a mountain. When he'd given her his heart. She closed her eyes as she recalled the memory of him pressing her hands to his chest and saying "This belongs to you know. Private property of Teresa Lisbon."

But they'd lost so much time, so every minute they spent like this was another minute lost.

Her phone buzzed in her jacket. She pulled it out carefully, hesitating a moment, before glancing at it. It took a second for the letters on the tiny screen to come into focus. When they did, a smile stole into her tired face. The message read:

_"Hey. My place later? Peace offering consists of food, aspirin & TLC. LY"_

She closed her eyes in relief. Maybe it was worth trying to survive this after all. She looked up to find that Britten had been suddenly morphed into a short fat man in a light grey suit.

"… and then we'll discuss the new recommendations of appropriate foot-wear for agents dealing with high-risk cases in the field…"

Cho gave her a worried look, when she suddenly started giggling under her breath.

A couple of miles and a few traffic-lights away, Patrick Jane stepped out of his Airstream, a fresh cup of tea in his hand. The clouds were now pushing and shoving in faster, tumbling into each other like a flock of starved black sheep racing towards a new patch of fresh green grass. Sometimes, when they bumped into each other, the collision resulted in the deep rumble of thunder, but even though the sky was completely dark now, there was still no sign of rain.

Jane smiled up to the dark sheep in the spring sky and took another sip from his tea-cup, closing his eyes for a second, enjoying the sensation as pure warmth spread through his body. Tea. Best thing in the world.

His phone beeped.

Well, second best thing, actually.

_"Sorry about before. Head is killing me. Not my day. Will come by if not gone crazy or bored to death by 4 pm :(( LY2"_

He frowned at the text. That second bracket worried him. And even though he knew there were parts of her job she did not enjoy — briefings like this being high on the list — she'd never admitted that before. To anyone. Including him. So her day was really as bad as he'd feared earlier. He sat down on the steps of the Airstream and looked into the dark sky, trying to make two very important decisions. One regarding the plan he'd set up earlier, the other regarding something that he'd meant to tell her for a while now, but for simple meteorological reasons never got around to. He knew it would make her happy if he did.

He glanced up at the black sheep grazing above him and smiled. Today might just be the perfect day.

He estimated he had about an hour and a half before it started raining. More than enough to get her out of there and back here. He pulled the phone out of his pocket, threw it in the air, letting it do a happy backflip and caught it again. If everything went according to plan, her day was about to get a lot better a lot sooner than she expected. It also meant that it would hopefully allow him to put another plan into action a lot sooner than originally scheduled. He unlocked the screen on his phone.

Time to make a few calls…


	3. Lucky Coincidences

A/N: Chapter forecast: After some early mist and foggy patches, some areas may experience high winds and isolated thunderstorms, due to increased influence of polar jet stream (PJ). Intervals of sunny spells later on, followed by heat wave, with temperatures expected to reach the high Ms during the last paragraphs. There is a 89 percent chance this will continue well into the first paragraphs of chapter 4. Confirmation of this is expected by Friday or Saturday. Be advised to take proper precautions. Have a nice day ;-) (and thank you for the reviews)

* * *

"I'm Darren and you're listening to the Weekend Wish-List on KWKX. And what a dark weekend it is, folks, look at that sky!"

The wire stripper hit the metal table with a loud protesting clunk. Billy Dunmore reached for the needle-nose pliers without looking and growled.

"Yeah, very funny, I'm in the bloody basement, you idiot."

God, he hated that radio-show, but then again, there were not many things on this planet - or any other - that Billy Dunmore didn't hate. In fact, the list was rather short, containing his mum, his brother, energy drinks, Mars bars, Game of Thrones and a fish-tank, he would hopefully one day find the time to fill with water and actual fish. The clown-fish swimming across the locked screen on his computer reminded him of his plans every two minutes by making happy bubbles around the sign-in-button.

It was the 120th reminder today, which meant he was halfway through his shift.

The phone rang.

"Dunmore, IT hardware support, how my I help you?"

He listened for a while to a stream of upset abuse — not directed at him, but at an apparently very uncooperative printer. He made his customary "ahs" and "rights" and "reallys?" at appropriate intervals, then, when the man on the other end of the line finally stopped talking, he said.

"Have you checked if the ink container is… it is empty?… No… No need to apologise. Happens to everyone… Yeah…Funny… Easiest solutions are often the right ones. Yeah, no problem… have a nice day."

He hung up and snatched another tool and a couple of wires from the desk beside him. He shook his head.

"Idiot."

How these people managed to solve serious crimes across the country when they couldn't even solve a problem this simple was beyond him. He glared at the phone one more time, then turned his attention back to the radio-show. He might hate it, but he found the shift went by faster with angry energy boiling behind his skull.

"On today's show, we offer a special two for one deal. That's right, folks. One message — two songs of your choice. And we have our first customer today and it's Patrick from Austin. Hello and welcome to the Weekend Wish-List."

"Uh… hi, Darren."

Billy clipped the first wire. The guy on the phone sounded nervous. It amazed him that every caller on the radio sounded like this. If it scared you, why make the call? It wasn't like there was a law that said you had to talk garbage on live-radio at least once in your life.

"Hi Patrick. Who's your message for?"

"It's.. uh… for my buddy Billy? I think he deserves some nice tunes."

"And why is that?"

"Because, you know, he's probably having another bad day at work."

Billy Dunmore snorted. Apparently he wasn't the only Billy in a bad mood out there. But the other one was lucky to have a friend. Even if it was a frightened one.

"And what does he do, Patrick?"

"Fixing things. You know he's like… I don't know… the immune system of his company. Keeps things running and fit, so the corporate body can work better and faster… Sort of… But… well… no one notices or appreciates it. They take him for granted, don't even see him. Want him to be invisible. You know?"

Billy nodded without looking up. "I know that feeling, buddy, god, I *really* do."

"So, Patrick, what's your message for Billy?"

A long intake of breath, followed by a steady and suddenly very confident and cheery voice:

"Hi Billy. How are you, pal? We knocked back some heavy stuff yesterday, man. Hope you're not still knocked out, but instead knocking about already. Also hope you can knock off work soon and don't let the world tear your down, brush the bad vibes off the table, man, and if those idiots give you trouble, knock some sense into their heads."

Billy blinked.

"Uh, thank you, Patrick. Here's our two for one deal for Billy: Starfield "I hate the world" and before that, something that is the perfect song choice for this apocalyptic weather…"

The first chords of an R.E.M. song filled the room. Billy Dunmore grinned, hummed quietly along and once the chorus started, burst out enthusiastically, if a little off-key:

"It's the end of the world as we know it. And I feel fiiiinnnneee."

When Starfield started singing "I hate the world today", the phone rang again.

A few floors above Billy Dunmore, Teresa Lisbon stared at the back of a bald head. Kimball Cho sitting next to her hoped sincerely, that she didn't develop super-powers within the next five minutes. If she did, it would lead to a bloody hole in the back of a skull and by extension to the unpleasant, messy und untimely death of supervising agent Dennis Abbott. Maybe Jane should have made the whole man disappear and not just his pen. Because sometime during the last half hour, Abbott had apparently figured out that he actually didn't need any artificial devices to communicate his frustration to the room. His right index-finger went down on the desk. Hard. Again. And again.

Cho nudged Lisbon's elbow, until she looked at him and followed his gaze down to his notepad. The deciphered message read.

"Food. Now. Food."

Lisbon sighed, rotated her shoulders and rubbed one of the by now numerous sore spots on her neck. Late lunch. Food. Dinner. That sounded like a plan, but at the pace this was going, all she could hope for, was probably a midnight snack.

At an impulse, she texted Jane.

Her phone vibrated only a few seconds later.

_"Then I'll make sure it will be the best midnight snack you've ever had ;-)"_

She tried to suppress a smile and texted back.

_"I was really talking about *food*, you idiot"_

_"So was I."_

_"liar"_

_"Well, ok, maybe not *only* about food…"_

Before she had a chance to type a reply, another text arrived.

_"Don't blush. Or smile. Frown at the phone. Make it worried."_

_"what?"_

_"Fat man notices you're texting. If assumes important & case-related: might let it go. If assumes private: will confiscate phone."_

She was about to look up to see if Jane was right, when her phone gave her hand another alarmed nudge.

_"And don't look up!"_

She frowned at the screen, but did as he told her. When she dared to look up again a few moments later, she saw grey suit's eyes move off. They clearly had been fixed on her only a second before. She scanned the whole room now, almost convinced Jane was hiding somewhere. Her phone buzzed again.

_"Am not ;-))))"_

She slid the phone into her pocket, leaning down a little more than necessary, so she could hide the bright loving smile that was somehow a very real representation of the emoticon at the end of Jane's message - and somehow now impossible to avoid.

Which was silly. She knew he'd probably be able to do that kind of thing with everyone, but still. It felt good. To feel this special. And to feel this close to him. Even though he was halfway across town. But maybe that was just a feeling connected with being in love in general and not with being in love with Patrick Jane in particular.

Her pocket vibrated. She wedged it open with two fingers, trying to read the message without getting the phone back out.

_"You are. We are."_

Lisbon almost fell out of her chair when the door flew open and crashed against the wall with a loud thundering sound. Two dozen heads turned, eleven people jumped up, six reached for their guns - three of which blushed, when they realised, that didn't actually carry a gun today.

"Sorry. Sorry. My fault. Sorry."

The young tall guy with the short blonde hair clutched a toolbox to his chest with one hand and held the other up in surrender. On his jacket, just above the edge of the toolbox, the corner of a badge was visible. And on it the letters "IT".

Everyone sat down again. Except Abbott. Who turned and hit his desk with both fists. No need to decipher this code. The IT-guy jumped.

"I'm sorry to interrupt… it's just…"

The young man pointed to somewhere at the back of the room.

"I've had a call.. there's a problem with a server connection… I need to open that panel back there and check something."

"Make it quick. We've been in here long enough and can't afford any more delays."

"Yes, Sir."

The man slowly eased his grip on the toolbox.

It slid out of his hand and banged on the floor. Lisbon flinched. As did everyone else. Except Cho and Abbott, the latter saying with a threatening quiet growl.

"And make it silent. Like a mouse. Like you're not really here."

Lisbon thought she saw a tiny flash of anger on the man's face, but maybe it was just the light. He picked up the box and trotted off towards the back of the room. Abbott sat down and nodded gravely to grey suit to proceed.

_Like you're not really there. Yeah, right. Exactly. Exactly like that dude had said on the radio. Fix the phone, Billy. Fix the printer, Billy. Fix the copier, Billy. But please don't make a mess or a noise._

He cast a longing glance at the electric screwdriver in his toolbox, before he rammed the analog one into the panel. Then he started to turn the first screw. Getting this thing off was not going to be easy. The panel was almost in the corner of the room at waist-height and he had to squeeze between the back wall and the short edge of a long glass and chrome table. When he crunched down to reach the screws at the bottom of the panel, he bumped into the table. The various objects on it made small nervous jittery noises. He frowned. Was all this evidence from a case? He thought it had to be, since the stuff seemed random and strictly domestic, ranging from a table lamp, a notebook, a dvd-box, some books, a pair of shoes and a sports bag to a big old-fashioned globe, the heavy wooden sphere sitting in a hideous stand made of wood. Or deer antlers. Or plastic. He couldn't really tell. Or wanted to. He had work to do.

Once he'd unscrewed the panel, he put it carefully down, quite proud of the silent "thummmbb" it made. But he still felt the stern look of the even sterner agent with the glasses and the perfect suit in his back. He scratched the sleeve of his not so perfect blue shirt, then frowned, when his eyes didn't find what he'd expected behind the wall. Everything seemed fine here, everything in perfect working order. He sighed after another careful inspection, knowing that in this case the easiest solution apparently wasn't the right one.

_Damn it._

He hoisted the panel back up with a huff and pushed it back into the wall. The sound it made this time wasn't a silent "thummmbb". It was loud and if featured in a comic-book, would have had a lot of exclamation marks at the end.

And probably a few pictures of bombs, sirens and megaphones at the beginning.

"Hey! What have I said before? Quiet! Invisible!"

_Stupid, bloody, arrogant…_

He wrenched the screws back in and, once he was sure the panel was secure, spun around in anger. His elbow caught on something hard, but he kept moving, somehow not giving a damn, but feeling rather good about it. Which was odd. But strangely satisfying.

The feeling only lasted a second.

Then it turned to horror, when he noticed the stand of the globe wobble and shake. The sphere peeked over the threshold once, then, apparently deciding the time for escape was right, made its move. Before Billy could prevent the world from becoming unhinged, it fell, bounded off the edge of the table and bounced and rolled across the floor.

And then the real world turned upside down, as the sphere's journey came to a sudden end and all hell broke lose.

Half an hour later Patrick Jane's nose came out of the book he was reading, when he heard the muffled click of a car-door being quietly shut. He knew if Lisbon had been there to see it, she would have made a comment on how if he was a dog, he'd be the kind of overexcited puppy to prick up its ears and tilt its head almost 90 degrees at the sound of a fly landing on the window. He'd say he'd be a wolf rather than a dog and if he had to be a dog, then he'd opt for Australian Shepherd. Lisbon would tell him with a teasing sweet smile, she had actually aimed for Jack-Russell-Terrier. Or Golden Retriever. Which Jane would find a bit of on insult to his intelligence. He would have to concede though, that there was a certain resemblance — if only in hair-colour.

He swung his socked feet off the couch and got up, careful not to bump into the table, which was already set for a late lunch - or early dinner - and grabbed a kitchen towel from the sink. He grinned briefly, then reset his face to a neutral expression and padded to the door.

When Jane opened the door and looked down at her, she wanted to jump up and throw her arms around his neck. But that was out of the question, because a) she hated seeming like a helpless damsel in distress out of a silly chick-movie and b) because even though she knew he would catch her, at the end of a jump gravity would hit, no matter where she landed. And she was not sure her head would be able to take that right now. So she opted for a small smile.

He raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. "You're early."

Somewhere behind her, thunder rumbled. As did her stomach. He frowned at her, throwing a kitchen towel over his shoulder. Lisbon's smile grew a little wider. He was evidently preparing food. Food was within her reach.

"You're early. And you're tense. I wonder why that is. The being early. I do have a pretty good idea where the tension comes from."

He reached out a hand towards her. She took it, feeling warmth and a tingly sensation spread up her arm.

"Yes, I am. No, I am not. Just headachy and…"

He suddenly pulled her up the steps, wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. She slid her arms around his neck slowly, one hand automatically pushing into his hair, the other sliding beneath his shirt-collar to caress his skin. She closed her eyes, savouring the feeling of his lips moving against hers in a soft smile. After a while, she broke the kiss and leaned heavily against his arms, so she could smile properly back at him.

"… hello to you, too, by the way."

Her hands moved to his shoulders and she sniffed the air in excitement.

"Food."

He laughed.

"Yes. Food. As promised. Just finished this in time."

He nodded towards the table and threw the kitchen towel over his back into the sink. Lisbon gave a sigh.

"Thank god, I'm starving."

He gestured towards the table, but then, when she made a step towards it, pulled her gently back against him. She felt his fingers on her sore neck and closed her eyes, as they started to move over her skin with soft pressure, finding the most painful spots with frightening ease. She had trouble following the path his fingers traced along her neck, even though they were moving slow and never left her skin. After a few minutes, in which the only sounds piercing the silence in the Airstream were the rumble of distant thunder and the occasional crunching sound of shoes walking on gravel, he had managed to caress most of the pain away. She had no idea how he did that with applying so little pressure. The physiotherapist she had been forced to see for a while a few years back had only managed to make the pain go away by temporarily inflicting even more of it - and thereby making her curse her way through most of her appointments with him.

He slid his hands to her shoulders and down her arms before pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck and into her hair. She leaned against him with a sigh.

"Better?"

"Better."

"Good."

He pressed another quick kiss into her hair, then gently pushed her in the direction of the table.

"Food, then."

"God, yes."

She slid behind the table, fork in hand before her backside had even made contact with the bench. He grinned.

"You *were* talking about food", he remarked in clear amusement with a half-serious, surprised grin plastered across his face.

She pointed the fork at him. There was already chicken on it.

"And judging by the surprised look on your face, you apparently were *not*."

He grinned, picked up his own fork, then leaned back to watch the expression of pure bliss on her face, when she tasted the food. First image today that was more than worth storing in his memory palace, he thought. She was happy. It made him happy. Life was that simple again. At least in moments like this.

"Ah, well… see, I had already suspended thinking about food, since…"

He pointed at their plates. "I was already done with it."

She grinned. "I don't mind you thinking about food again. Feel free to do it any time you like. You're good at thinking about food."

"I'm good at thinking about a lot of things", he said, then leaned forward and added:

"I'm also good at being very very nosy. So tell me. What happened?"

She took another bite, then shook her head.

"Chemical accident. Well, two actually."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "In the conference room? I thought I had destroyed every potential biohazard when I took Miller's chips."

She laughed, leaned her head back against the bench and stretched her legs under the small table towards him. It took him less than a minute to remove her shoes with his right foot. Which, she had to admit, she had hoped he would do. But then a memory connected to Miller's chips sobered her mood for a moment and she straightened back up, drawing her feet back towards her side of the table.

"Speaking of which… Thank you for that. And I am sorry. I didn't mean it. Earlier. You know."

She kept her eyes on the plate, avoiding his gaze, but felt him nod across the table at her.

"I know. It's fine."

She looked up at him now, raising her eyes slowly and a little hesitantly. He smiled at her reassuringly and shrugged, shoving a random leaf of salad back onto his plate with a finger, before it could fall off the edge.

"You were in pain and stressed out. It's only natural to fall back into established behavioural patterns when in distress. It's human nature. It's why it's so hard for people to change. It's simple biology. Once we're programmed to react to perceived danger - distress - in a certain way, the brain executes that program and there's no pause-and-rewind-button."

She swallowed another bite of chicken and snorted.

"As a superior model, I bet you have one."

He laughed, but she could hear just a little sadness resonating at the end of each laughter.

"No, I don't. If I had, we'd had this meal - and this conversation - probably years ago."

_Or not at all._

They looked at each other, the silence suddenly growing thick around them. Then Jane pulled them both out of the moment. Scratching his head and wrinkling his nose, he admitted.

"Though I can't entirely blame you for initially thinking I might have something to do with it. I was contemplating certain… options… just as a precaution. But: Calling his secretary? That wasn't one of them."

She snorted and shook her head, feet now creeping over to his side of the table again, until they bumped into thick wooly socks. She had given up trying to get him a variety of more suitable and colourful ones for now.

"Too boring for you? I should have known. You looked way too excited for planning a simple phone-call. So what options did you have?"

He swallowed a last bite of food, then put the fork down and stared at it, avoiding her eyes for a moment.

"Too excited, huh?"

She took the glass of water next to her plate, longing for the liquid in it to be something stronger and preferably containing caffeine. But the bottle of aspirin sitting next to the glass, told her in no uncertain terms that that was not on the menu. She knew he would have put anything out of her reach that didn't mix well with pain medication.

She tilted her head.

"Yeah, a little."

When she set the glass down again after swallowing both water and aspirin, he still hadn't said anything in reply. The silence made her uncomfortable and so she gave into the need to elaborate.

"I guess that's why my brain felt the need to… fall back into established behavioural patterns. Because I could see that look on your face. In your eyes. That need to… do something that usually leads to…"

"Trouble."

Lisbon flinched a little at his sad tone, but said nevertheless.

"Yeah."

She reached over and gently removed his hand from the edge of the plate, until she could lace her fingers through this.

"But that's no excuse for not believing you when you said you didn't do it. And I'm really sorry for that."

Jane stared at their hands on the table, his face not a mask, but simply silent. It was odd, she thought, how subtle the difference actually was. It was also beyond amazing, that she was now able to catch it, without ever really knowing how. Then he pulled his hand back, flashed a loving smile at her and made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

"Forget it. It's not important. What is important though…"

He leaned forward again and pushed her plate an inch closer to her.

"…is that you finish your meal and finally tell me what happened."

After close inspection of his eyes and face, she decided it really was ok, wolfed down the last food on her plate and then rested her head in her hands and said.

"In a nutshell? There was a bad smell. And lots of bubbles."

He laughed. "What?"

"Remember that table with all the stuff on it? We had a short break in between and when we got back, there was this big cleaning trolley and a couple of mops and buckets on the other wall across from the table. Apparently, no one had been notified that a horde of people were supposed so scrub down the whole building, including the conference room we were in. Abbott almost threw a fit when they wanted to start cleaning during our briefing."

Jane smiled at the amused expression in her eyes, noting with satisfaction that there was barely any pain left in them. He ticked a mental box in his mind. Mission accomplished.

"The briefing was dragging on and on and…"

She suddenly frowned as a thought crossed her mind and she suspended her tale for a moment to ask.

"How did you know he was looking at me texting?"

Jane made another dismissive motion with his hands.

"Meh. Not really interesting. Go on."

"Anyway, I was reading… your last text and then this IT-guy comes in, goes on about needing to look at some panel. Poor kid was a bit fidgety. Even managed to drop his tool-box."

Jane sucked in a breath.

"I bet that went down well with Abbott."

"You can say that. Anyway, Abbott growls at him to get a move on and be quiet. Which seems to do the trick. He's almost done and then he bumps accidentally into the table and there's this hideous globe and the sphere comes tumbling down from the table, rolls over the floor and crashes into the cleaning trolley…"

Jane grinned triumphantly and pointed a finger at her.

"… where there's a lot of nice little chemicals."

She grinned, removed one hand from under her chin and put her own index-finger against the tip of his.

"Exactly."

"So, what happened?"

She shrugged. "I couldn't really see, but suddenly there was this sour, sharp smell and some smoke and then the smart high-tech fire sprinkling system kicked in in the localised area directly above the cart..."

"And that is why, dear children, we have to have health and safety regulations", Jane said in imitation of Britten. Then said in his own voice.

"Maybe he should have invited the cleaning crew to the morning briefing as well."

Lisbon laughed.

"God, he'd have a field-day with this. Anyway, that was when the floor around the trolley suddenly started to look like an overflowing bubble bath… and Abbott yelled at everyone to get out. So we did. Stood in the corridor for a while, until he said we could go home."

Jane laughed.

"I.. have to say… I would have given a lot to see all this. Especially the look on Abbott's face."

"It's not funny, Patrick", Lisbon protested, shooting him a stern glance.

"Oh come on, of course it is. Like in an old slapstick-movie. Would have been even funnier if the sprinkler system got triggered in the whole room."

When he caught a dangerous flashing blaze of angry heat in her look, he back-paddled quickly.

"With the exception of the area you were in, of course."

"Though I wouldn't have minded helping you get dry again", he added with a sly grin.

She ignored the last comment, tried to shoot him one more serious look, but had to give up, when she couldn't hide her smile any longer. She shook her head laughing.

"OK, fine, it was funny. And I take it back. There are such things as lucky coincidences."

"Well, told you there are", he agreed with a shrug.

He leaned back and pushed his plate an inch away, until it clicked against hers, eyes fixed firmly on the spot where the two met.

"I mean how likely is it that someone happens to push that thing off the table at the exact right angle for it to hit the cart and knock off an open box of - for example - highly aggressive drain-cleaner, which conveniently falls into a bucket of water, releasing a mountain of smelly toxic fumes that trigger the highly sensitive fire sprinkler system, while at the same time the impact of the sphere knocks down the mops next to cart like dominos, who on return knock over an also already open box of - say - some kind of floor cleaning fluid that apparently when mixed with water produces a mountain of foam within seconds."

She laughed and shook her head. "Very unlikely."

Lisbon reached out, patted his hand lovingly and added with a smile: "And I won't even ask. I promise. Even you couldn't arrange for something as random as this to happen."

Slowly Jane's head came back up, eyes suddenly sparkling with mischievous joy, a grin spreading on his face now, so wide and bright, it lit up the whole Airstream. He pulled his hand away from hers, leaned back slowly and folded his arms in front of his chest.

"Well…"

Jane caught the napkin out of the air before it could hit him, then slid out of the bench and quickly snatched the empty plates from the table. He was quite certain she wasn't upset enough to actually consider throwing cutlery and table-wear at him, but better be safe than sorry.

He dumped the plates in the sink with slow movements, trying to give her some time to control her anger. Only the weird thing was, he didn't feel any anger coming from her direction. When he turned around, he was greeted with a rather astonished and curious expression.

"Seriously?"

"Afraid so. Please don't be mad. I just needed to get you out of there."

She ignored his plea for mercy and asked still a little stunned:

"How?"

He leaned against the sink, crossed one foot over the other and his arms in front of his chest.

"Easy. Like playing pool. Just had to set up the perfect shot for things to fall into the right direction."

"Yes, but how did you get the IT-guy to *make* that shot? And the cleaning crew? And the cart? And the open boxes? How did you get them to the right spot in the first place?"

"I promise to tell you later, if you tell me now why you're not upset about this. I was expecting at least some yelling to occur."

She slid out of the bench and met him halfway, putting her arms around his neck. He looked at her as if he thought she might want to snap it. It made her laugh. She pulled his head down, until her forehead was resting against his. She felt a little stupid and foolish for what she wanted to say next, but even bad-ass no-nonsense cop Teresa Lisbon occasionally gave in to romance. Lately, she thought, that happened frighteningly often.

She started playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling, sliding his arms around her and pulling her against his chest, until he felt her heart beat, felt her chest rise and fall against his. They were silent for a bit, then she said in a very quiet voice — touched, surprised and a bit accusingly.

"You turned the world upside down for me."

She freed a hand from his neck and placed it on his cheek.

"How can I be upset about something as sweet as that."

He sighed in relief, turned his head and pressed a kiss into the palm of her hand. She felt his lips on her skin turn upwards into a grin.

"Well, if you put it that way…" he said teasingly and she pushed him away with a laugh.

"Oh shut up! But you do realise, just because this time I didn't mind, doesn't mean…"

He held up his hands and interrupted her.

"I know, I know. Don't do it again. This was an emergency, though. You were in pain."

He looked at her from serious eyes. It was scary how he managed to strip complex situations to their basic core and explain his equally complex actions with a simple four-word-sentence, that left no room for doubt that he'd done the right thing.

"Yes, but I'm better now", she said. He frowned at her, clearly not convinced.

"And next time, don't waste time scheming: Just go and fetch me an aspirin from the break room."

He rolled his eyes at her.

"Fine. Boring plan. But I suppose it will do the trick", he said.

Now she was the one rolling her eyes at him, clearly not convinced either. He thought this was the perfect time to change the subject and tone of their conversation. So he simply said with a loving smile.

"Come here."

He reached out a hand and pulled her back towards him, arms sliding round her waist, nose pressed into her hair, placing a soft kiss behind her ear, whispering.

"Don't be so tense."

"I'm not tense", she mumbled against his chest, then slid her arms around his neck and let her body relax against his with a small sigh.

"See. Relaxed. Off duty. Fed. Drugged. Only thing missing is… Any chance for a cup of coffee?"

He shook his head.

Well, she thought, it had been worth a try.

She pressed her nose into his neck below his chin, thinking that - considering their difference in height - it was quite convenient for her that since his return to the US he always kept the first button of his shirt open. She kissed the patch of skin it revealed and smiled as her brain went on to wonder if he'd decided on developing that particular fashion trademark for just this ultimate purpose. Knowing Jane, it was a real possibility. She rubbed her nose against him and sighed. He kissed her head, ran a hand into her hair and said.

"You're still tense."

"No, I'm not."

Her fingers started playing with the second button of his shirt. He grinned.

"Yes, you are. I can tell."

"How?"

"Your breathing. It's all messed up."

The second button of his shirt popped out of its hole. She bit her bottom lip in small triumph, moving on to the next one, then, just to show him he was wrong, sucked in a deep breath and exhaled with a dramatic sigh.

"Seems fine to me", she said. He shook his head.

"Trying to take in deep breaths without letting go properly is counterproductive and creates tension. Full and relaxed inhalations require good letting-go skills."

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

"Letting-go skills?"

"Yes."

She frowned. "Is this really a subject you want me to contemplate? Developing my letting-go skills?"

He chuckled.

"Only in connection with breathing techniques, my love."

"If you tell me I'm supposed to start meditating now, I'll teach you some breathing techniques, that require your arms being twisted behind your back", she grumbled.

He bent down and kissed her neck, a long open-mouthed kiss, setting her skin on fire. She closed her eyes, desperately trying to breathe as normal as she could.

He pulled her closer still, then whispered in her ear.

"You stop halfway through exhaling. Just a tiny stop, you probably don't even notice it and it doesn't make a difference medically speaking, but…"

She noticed it now, his chest rising steadily while hers fell erratically. It created a strange tension between them.

Tension. She rolled her eyes. Damn that man, why was he always right about these things?

He smiled, reading her thoughts and said with smug teasing.

"See. Told you. That's tension. We don't want that."

"_WE_ apparently also don't want sex today, do we?"

He chuckled.

"Seriously. Just… relax"

"I am relaxed", she complained into his shirt. Jane's hands were now slowly, soothingly stroking her back. It was very distracting. And not only from breathing properly. She felt herself almost crawling into him now, arms wrapped tightly around him, trying to concentrate on matching her breathing to his. It was suddenly something so vital, it scared her. Almost as much as knowing that there was a person in the world who cared about something as trivial as her breathing. Or a simple headache. Or an ordinary bad day.

She suddenly realised that she hadn't asked him once how his day had been and felt a bit guilty. He choose this moment to gently tilt her chin up and kiss her deeply.

Just before they broke apart, she mumbled a little grumpily against his lips.

"Great, now I'm not able to breathe at all. Very helpful."

"Reset button", he whispered against her neck, trailing kisses down from her chin to her collarbone, one hand on the small of her back, the other slipping under her shirt.

"Reset button?"

"Uh hu. In simple terms: Breaking the cycle by holding your breath, thus restarting the respiratory system, so you're not breathing funny anymore."

_Smartass._

She grinned, fingers first popping the last button on his shirt, then moving just a little lower and wandering teasingly over the front of his pants. It had the desired effect.

She gave him a sweet smile.

"It seems you're the one who is breathing funny now, sweetheart."

He laughed, then pushed her against the wall of the Airstream, careful to manoeuvre them into the small open space between the table and the door, suddenly acutely aware how small and crowded this place actually was. Which was ironic given that "small space" had been one of the reasons to get the Airstream in the first place. Somehow it seemed like all his past reasons for doing anything were no longer important. It was the most brilliant and scary thing ever. And it was all because of her.

Now his hands were busy undoing buttons, then sliding a silky sleeve from her shoulders and replacing the soft caress of the fabric with his mouth, trailing kisses up her collarbone and her neck, fingers sliding teasingly under the straps of her bra and gliding along softly in the direction of the clasp, undoing it with a flick of his fingers and repeating his earlier actions: Replacing the soft touch of fabric with his lips. When she gasped and ran a hand greedily into his hair, he looked up at her. When her hand in his hair tightened and he saw her eyes grow dark, it sent a deliciously intense bolt of pleasure down into his body. He grinned at her.

"Now we're in synch again."

"Am I glad to hear that", Lisbon said grumpily, but couldn't keep the amused and slightly aroused tone out of her voice. He lifted his head, slid teasingly slow up her body and placed his hands on either side of her face for another deep kiss.

Even though she was a little distracted by what he was doing with his tongue in her mouth, she suddenly realised he was right. They were in synch, chests rising and falling in an increasingly rapid, shared rhythm. It felt incredible. She moaned into his mouth again, her hands now in his hair, deepening the kiss, making it hard and hot and all consuming, before she opened his belt and zipper. She pushed a hand into his boxers, want and desire making her almost dizzy now.

He moaned her name against her neck then, the sound and the vibrations against her skin sending a current of tingling pleasure from her neck to the rest of her body. She could sense that he was about to try and get them over to the couch-slash-bed, but she wasn't done yet, her desire and want suddenly shifting into making this about him, completely about him this time. Maybe she couldn't lift the world from its hinges to make his day better, but there were other things she could do. Make him feel good. Still stroking and caressing him with one hand, she moved her other hand from his lower back to the back of his head, holding him firmly in place on her neck. When she was sure he got the message and wouldn't move, she let go and pushed her hand deep into his blonde curls, tugging lightly. Finally she lowered her head to press an open-mouthed kiss between his neck and his shoulder, then bit down gently, just enough to draw another raw and hoarse moan from him.

"Teresa… slow down… love…"

The way his voice almost broke, the way his breath brushed in erratic puffs again her skin, the way he held on to her for support, burying his face deeper and deeper in her neck with every stroke, every caress of her fingers, made her own knees weak and her heart beat almost painfully against her ribs.

"Wait… Teresa…I…"

He was close to coming apart in her hands now, eyes tightly shut, panting hard. She had come to love watching him like this in recent weeks, the amazing feeling of seeing him so unguarded and alive only suspended, when she caught the flicker of total surprise, that always preceded his release. It pained her to see that he still didn't expect to feel this good. Or thought he didn't deserve it. Because he did. He breathed a strangled moan against her neck, hands pressing harder into her skin now, body shaking, caught in a struggle between pleasure and control, release and constraint.

"Just let go, Patrick", she whispered into his hair.

He shook his head violently against her neck, and she almost didn't catch the words hidden between a gasp and a sob.

"No… not alone."

For a moment she couldn't move, couldn't breathe, her head spinning, his words echoing inside her, the feelings they triggered too much right now to process, but more than enough to know what he needed now. What they both needed now. So she slid her hands gently into his hair, then pulled his lips against hers, easing them into a deep but slow, very slow kiss. When she felt his hands move more steadily over her bare back, she suddenly pushed herself off the wall, wrapping her legs around his waist and sliding her arms around his neck. It took him by surprise and the motion propelled him backwards, leading to both of them tumbling onto the small bed-slash-couch with a grunt and a shriek, followed by a fit of laughter, as they tried not to fall off again. They struggled a bit for control between kissing and quickly shedding the rest of their clothes, until Jane let her push him down and raise his hands over his head.

"How's my breathing now?", she asked teasingly, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and deep. He let his arms relax under her grasp, pretending to give her question some serious thought.

"Acceptable under the circumstances, but I think there is room for improvement", he finally replied and thrust upwards against her. It made her gasp. And laugh. And since she did both at the same time, the resulting sound was a hiccupy noise that made both of them giggle. And that sound was light and free and fun, not carrying even the tiniest trace of embarrassment or awkwardness. Even in her case. Which was astonishing, especially to her own mind and heart.

Lisbon had never felt this easy about sex with anyone before, was usually afraid things might get awkward, that she would feel embarrassed and helpless if she herself or the man she was with lost emotional control or if things simply did not follow the path she had mentally and emotionally mapped out before.

So she was a bit surprised that with Patrick Jane, who knew a hundred ways to make her lose control and never followed any path or map, it never felt anything other than incredibly easy. And amazing. Like now.

She let go of his wrists and trailed her fingers down his arms, over his armpits and down his sides, feeling him shiver at her touch and close his eyes as she slowly settled down, pushing him deep inside of her with a sigh. They stayed still for a moment, then Jane sat carefully up, sliding one arm around her lower back and hooking the other under her shoulder to slide into her hair, pulling her against him, lips crushing down on hers with a deep growl, tongue darting into her mouth, silencing her moans with a deep kiss as he started moving. When he broke the kiss to get air, he leaned his forehead against hers, opened his eyes and between hard panting breaths whispered softly.

"You have… no idea… how much… I love you."

She cupped his face with both hands, losing herself in the love and desire and eternal blue of his eyes, before closing her own, whispering softly back.

"Then show me."

And he did.


	4. Healing Touch

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews on chapter 3! This one picks up where the last one left of, so the heat-wave-weather-warning still applies for another three paragraphs. Right *deep breath*. I really really really hope you like this and the next one, because they have been in my head (and heart) for weeks and I'm kind of nervous to let them go. And thank you so much to everyone who is reading this. It means a lot.

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The first conscious thought was not a thought. It was a feeling. Of safety. Of warmth. Of home. The second conscious thought was not a thought either. It was a sound. Jane whispering to her softly, his voice the first and only thing from the outside world penetrating the silky sheets of heat and pleasure still covering her whole body. She wanted to draw a deep breath, her pounding heart screaming at her to get oxygen in fast, but there was still so much raw emotion, so much feeling, so…. much inside of her, all she managed was a panting sob. It was followed by a small unhappy noise, when the first movement her still very foggy brain registered, was him pulling out of her.

She was not ready to let go, but her voice didn't seem to be working yet.

Not knowing what else to do, she dug her fingers into his shoulders and he first stopped moving, then stopped whispering. She felt his lips on hers then, soft and almost tentative, a touch so light at first, she wasn't even sure how and when it had begun. He suddenly put a little more pressure into the kiss, moved his lips slowly but firmly against hers. At the same moment he pushed himself back into her as deep as he could, moaning against her skin, as his lips left hers and slid across her cheek to press another light and calming kiss against the soft spot just below her ear. It triggered another sob, a release for the strange raw feeling of need and relief at having him back inside her - and at sensing his own need to be there. The sob turned into a gasp, when she didn't get enough air and she almost panicked.

Then she heard his voice again. Soft and light as the beginning of the kiss had been and somehow everywhere around and inside her.

"…slow, love, slow… just breathe… It's ok… I've got you, my love… I've got you… I'm here…With you… I'll always be here with you…"

And then there was air in her lungs again, while his voice continued to wash over her like the soft caress of a warm summer's breeze. She was about to try and open her eyes to look at him, when an unexpected second wave, this one pure emotion and very different from the first one of hot pleasure, rolled through her, making her gasp in surprise, forcing her back off the couch, her hands clutching at Jane's shoulders, holding on, just holding on, feeling, hearing, smelling, sensing, knowing nothing while it lasted.

Nothing except him.

Feeling him still so deep inside of her, his soft voice in her ear, his scent all around her, his hands now gently holding her head, his name first on her lips, then as a cry, both of love and fear, in the space between them. Or maybe only in her mind, she wasn't sure. But it didn't matter. She knew he'd hear her either way.

_"Patrick… too… much… "_

"Ok. ok. It's ok. I'm here, love, I'm here", he whispered against her lips. "I'm here."

She felt his arms sliding around her back and a gentle, but firm pressure, as he used his weight on top of her to push her shaking body slowly back down. Then he just held her without moving, until her sobs turned to heavy breaths and the shaking eased into a soft shiver.

He started stroking her hair. Placing small kisses to her neck, her temple, her forehead, her nose. Whispering still. Softly. Her heart knew them to be never-ending words of love, even though her mind and ears could barely grasp them. He kept on whispering, until she started to feel the fabric of the couch beneath her again, started to hear the sounds of a car driving by and sensed - even with her eyes closed - that the light wriggling through the small gaps between the slats of the closed venetian blinds was getting softer around them.

She let out a long breath. Inhaled again. And let the air flow out. Once. Twice. Then she stopped counting and just concentrated on bringing the world back into focus. To finally come out of it. It had never been like this before. She had been used to coming down again in an easy and strictly physical sense. Like getting her breathing back to normal with a couple of quick and fast gulps of air — assuming she'd been lucky enough to be out of breath in the first place.

But that was pre-Jane.

Since the first time they'd ended up together in bed — or rather on the floor of a cabin in the middle of a snow-storm — something had been building up inside of her with every touch, with every kiss, every moan, every release. Building up to this. Whatever this was. It was not simply the after-effect of great sex. This was something else. For a second she wondered if she would actually have found her way back out of it without his voice to guide her. She also wondered if he'd known. He was kissing her softly now, slowly, hands holding her head, thumbs brushing over her flushed cheeks. When, after another minute, she finally felt ready to open her eyes, she was greeted by a soft and loving smile.

"Hey."

"Hey."

He gave her nose a soft nudge.

"You ok?"

"Hm."

He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear, then kissed her temple. She closed her eyes again and sighed.

"Just still not really used to sex sometimes getting as… intense as… this", she finally said.

She hoped he wouldn't make any kind of overly romantic or soppy comment, because admitting this was embarrassing and frightening enough as it was. And he didn't. Just kissed her. Again. Deep and thorough and slow and with so much love, she felt a soft echo of that previous turmoil of emotion resonating in her heart. Just before the kiss ended, he finally pulled out of her and flipped them, lips never leaving hers, until he had settled them in a comfortable embrace. He let go of her briefly to reach down towards the floor. A few seconds later, he had produced a light grey duvet, that had probably been hidden in a compartment under the couch.

Or maybe in a compartment overhead.  
After all, this was Jane and she had blinked a couple of times in the last 30 seconds.

Jane draped the soft, cool duvet over them, then stopped in mid-motion, when she suddenly started to eye him suspiciously, eyes sparkling in that adorable mixture of amusement, teasing, curiosity and suspicion. He loved that in recent weeks, the first three had clearly started to outweigh the last one. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"What?"

Lisbon folded her arms on his chest and hid her head behind it. Her nose, resting on her wrist, was slightly wrinkled, as it lay at the end of a suspicious frown. He laughed at her quite adorable expression. Her frown deepened a bit more.

"All that whispering… You didn't accidentally hypnotise me, did you?"

He noticed from her still light tone she didn't really believe he had, but it sent down a bolt of fear into his heart anyway. Looking at her, he saw she had another reason for saying it, but he felt a cold fear washing over him nevertheless. Because if Lisbon had really thought him capable of something as violating as this, even for a moment, it would have ended everything. Because he would have spotted that moment, as temporary and fleeting as it might have been. And would never have been able to forget it.

Sometimes he hated being so damn aware of everything.

His face and eyes grew very serious now and he reached out his hands and curled them around her shoulders, holding on almost too tight, his eyes never leaving Lisbon's.

"Never. I'd never do that do you, ok? Never."

She tilted her head a little, so Jane could see her smile. Of course she hadn't really thought so, but had to admit, it would have been almost a little less scary than knowing all of this had been inside herself. His grip eased on her shoulders as he followed her thoughts, then he trailed his fingers along her arms down to where her face rested, cupped her cheeks, leaned forward and kissed her again, still marvelling at the fact that he was allowed to do this now just because he wanted to. When the kiss ended, he let his hands rest lightly on her forearms and started to stroke her skin leisurely with his fingertips. Then he smiled back at her.

"So, I'm afraid that was all you, love."

Feeling her cheeks grow red, she hid her face in her arms. His smile widened and he chuckled.

"Well I suppose, on second thoughts, I think I do have to claim at least some credit for the… general… intensity of ...things."

She raised her head and eyebrows at him.

"Oh, do you now?"

He nodded gravely.

"Most. Definitely."

The grin plastered across his face was so full of satisfaction and smugness that Lisbon couldn't resist freeing a hand from under her cheek to pinch his nose playfully.

Jane huffed and made an offended face at her that made her laugh. When he noticed the start of a shiver running up her spine, he reached round to pull the duvet up to her still bare shoulders. She moved her hands to his sides, so she could rest her head on his chest and nestle deeper into his embrace. Outside thunder growled against the walls of the airstream, accompanied by a small, but brutal gale, that finally forced the dark, heavy clouds in the sky to open its floodgates.

Rain, hard as nails, hit the roof, the wall and the windows, piercing the silence around them with angry little arrows. Lisbon's head was turned away from the wall and she let her eyes wander across the small space of the airstream, from the table over the drawn blinds (when had he done that?) over the short blue curtains, towards the second small couch on the other side of the door. She glimpsed the spines of a couple of books, but it was now too dark to read the titles. Aside from the books, nothing hinted at the fact that someone was actually living here seven days a week.

Well, one or two days a week. Max.

And only if she was out on a case with another team-member. She had tried to convince him to stay at her place anyway, but the moment she was gone, he'd retreat to the airstream, apparently still a little uncomfortable with the silence of empty rooms. She wondered if getting a new place together might change that. Maybe one with a small study they could put a lot of books and a couch into. Make it his space. For emergencies. For the hopefully few nights when she wouldn't be able to be with him.

"You're doing it again", Jane mumbled from somewhere behind another rumble of thunder outside.

"Doing what?"

"Thinking so loud I can't help but noticing. Especially when you're thinking about me."

She laughed and patted his chest lightly.

"We're a bit overconfident about this, aren't we? It might be shocking for you to hear, sweetheart, but I don't actually spend every waking moment thinking about you."

He grinned, eyes closes, hands stroking her back.

"You did during the last half hour."

She poked him in the ribs and he gave a small yelp, then settled back down with a content sigh and a smile so happy and peaceful, it made her heart skip a beat.

God, she loved him.  
So much.  
Had never felt *anything* like this in her entire life.

Like wanting to adjust her breathing to be in tune with his. Like actually *wanting* him to know what she was thinking. Like needing - not wanting, but *needing*- him to be happy and safe and feel good. Like wanting to stay with him here forever. And wanting now, as frightening as it was, every time they made love to end in that amazing rush of emotion she'd felt before, where everything was just love and warmth and him. Wanting to wake up with him. Every day - screw the emergency couch, she just would refuse to go on cases with anyone else. Wanting to share every emotion with him - from being furious with him to laugh with him, to love with him, to cry with him. And almost still as frightening:

To share every memory with him.  
To grow old with him.

Lightning and a thought struck and she felt her chest constrict painfully, nausea and dizziness setting in just for a fraction of a second. Jane's eyes snapped open in alarm, not at the loud scream of thunder outside, but the silent scream of pain inside of her. His hands ceased to stroke her back and instead tightened around her shoulders.

"Teresa?"

"Is this it?" she asked quietly, the words coming out choked, painful, rushed, like a forced dry cough.

He blinked at her in honest confusion and in any other scenario, she would have filed it away as amusing. Patrick Jane confused. That rarely happened. But right now, all she felt was like slowly dying, dread and sadness and despair settling so heavy in her bones, she expected Jane to gasp at the unexpected gain of weight on top of him. He didn't though, just blinked again.

"Is this what?", he asked.

He could barely hear her over the sound of rain on the roof of the airstream.

"What you've lost."

The light flickered, the shadows of rain streaming down the windows turning the inside of the airstream into a maze of overflowing, dark, wild river rapids. Another rumble of thunder made the plates in the sink jingle in fright and the blinds clatter their slats in fear. Then, as suddenly as it had struck, the thunderstorm moved on, turning the wild shadowy currents first into small rivulets and then into dark slow tears, running over the walls, the windows and Jane and Lisbon's faces.

Lisbon moved and pressed herself into his side. He automatically put an arm around her and once he did, she reached for both his hands and laced her fingers through his. Both of them were looking at his left hand, where his wedding ring had been all those years. A heavy silence fell, as the rain stopped, a last river of tears streaming down the window beside them. After a while, Jane's voice broke the silence in a hoarse whisper.

"Yes. It is."

For a moment the world stopped. Lisbon had thought she had known how much the loss of his family had affected him, grasping the sorrow and the pain and the sadness. She thought she'd understood. Which was why she'd never been impatient with him as long as Red John had been out there. She'd been sad that he couldn't move on, yes - but not impatient that he didn't. That had changed since his return to the US, impatience, annoyance, disappointment and anger starting to replace understanding, because she thought at this point, he just hadn't wanted to move on anymore. She thought she'd understood. Now she realised she'd had no idea.

Until now.

She opened her mouth to say something, but no air, no words were willing to come out. She disentangled their hands and reached round his head, sliding a hand behind his ear and pulling his head down again into her neck, kissing his forehead, when he wrapped both arms around her and snuggled into her with a shudder. She started to stroke his hair, just holding him to her, feeling tears well up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Patrick. I'm so sorry", she whispered.

He buried his face deeper into her neck, fighting hard to keep breathing normally and to keep calm and in control.

"I'm so sorry, love."

And then her words were inside his soul, tearing down an indestructible wall that he'd built to last a lifetime. Behind it he had kept tears unshed and unshared for over a decade and they now burst free with a choking cry of pain. Lisbon held him through all of it, silently rocking him, her hand on the nape of his neck rubbing soothingly over his skin. She started whispering words of comfort into his hair, each one a caress, a healing touch, helping to close the last open wounds on his battered soul. When she pressed a kiss to his forehead, he felt that her cheeks were wet as well, sharing his pain, knowing his pain.

She was the first person who ever truly did.

I'm sorry. He'd heard that sentence so many times in the past - even from Lisbon - but the cruel and almost unbearable truth was, that he *knew* no one ever really understood. It was his curse. Seeing truths. Knowing things. Including this. Oh, people were kind to him. Sincere. But they were clueless. And those that had suffered similar losses, always turned the sentiment of comfort into a cry for help, frantically hoping to share their pain with him. Not inviting him to share his pain with them. Not once had the words "I'm sorry" reached the part of him that desperately needed to hear. And share. That black, utterly lonely, sad and defeated part inside of him, that he had managed to push so far back into his soul, he sometimes managed to forget about it. But it was still there. And it had waited in darkness for real words of comfort.

Waited in vain. For years.  
Until now.

Because Lisbon understood. Really understood. He'd seen it in her eyes. Heard it in her voice. Is this it? Is this what you've lost? That feeling I feel when I look at you? When I am with you? Dread rose inside of him as the consequence hit home.

He had doomed her.

If anything ever happened to him, she'd be in the same hell he'd been in for all those years. For a frantic moment his mind almost burnt itself out as thoughts and predictions wrestled and screamed inside him. Maybe he should have never come back, never made her work with him again, never let her this close - for heaven's sake, he had given her his heart! Told her it was her property now!

_Arrogant, selfish bastard, you stupid arrogant despicable selfish son of a bitch…_

"Don't you dare."

Her voice, full of tears, but also firm and a little angry, cut through the panic, reached for him and pulled him back out.

"Don't you dare to think I'd be better off not knowing how this feels, Patrick Jane. Don't you dare to think I'd be better off without you."

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A/N: Next one is finally all about rain. And memories. And magic. And I can't wait to finish it :)


	5. Dreaming of Rain

A/N: Thank you so very much for all the kind words on chapter 4. This new one is about rain and memories and words (the magic will be in the next one ;-). And I *so* hope you like it :) Also: This isn't really the tiny one-shot I thought it would be and still not done yet, so thank you so much for sticking with it :).

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A lonely rainy tear was trickling down the wall next to the window. It hastened over the grey surface until it reached the short edge of the head-rail, then hesitated, stopped, changed its direction sharply, once, twice, slid down another inch, then stopped again, before moving on in a complicated and erratic zig-zag pattern. The tiny drop of water seemed in quite a hurry - and stressed out. Maybe it didn't want to disturb the two people silently holding on to each other in the twilight. Maybe it just didn't know where to go. Or maybe it knew that its presence might be considered proof, that the FBI-budget didn't really stretch to provide brand new mobile homes for its consultants. But most likely it was just pushed into different directions by almost invisible, tiny cracks and irregularities on the surface of the wall. Simple as that. Though watching it, Lisbon couldn't help thinking that, when it finally scuttled out of view behind the couch, it was with a definite twitch of relief.

The solitary drop of water had been the only thing moving inside the Airstream for a while now, which was why it had caught Lisbon's attention in the first place. Jane hadn't moved, since she'd urged him, with a nudge of her nose and little pressure to the back of his neck, to turn over to his side almost ten minutes ago. They still lay curled up together like that now - his head tucked under her chin, her arms wrapped tightly around him, one hand on his back, one on the back of his head, her right leg thrown protectively over his thigh, so she could hold him even closer to her. She pushed her nose deep into his curls, inhaling the familiar scent that was a well-blended mixture of the faint cool smell of hair shampoo and just… Jane and started pressing soft, comforting, random kisses into his hair. He hadn't moved a single muscle until now, but feeling his slow and warm breath traveling softly over her skin, she knew that he was calming down. Not scrambling to put his defences back up. Not, with a slight of mind, magicking a mask of controlled neutrality or a smile of fake cheerfulness back onto his face. Just. Calming down. She leaned back a little, so she could actually see his face and ran her hand from the nape of his neck up to the top of his head. She let her fingers trail to his forehead, to brush away a renegade curl over his left eyebrow and smiled. She loved it when his hair was a bit longer and a bit more unruly, but the very domestic thought that he needed to get a haircut, crossed her mind now nevertheless. Suddenly he stirred and slowly opened the eye beneath her touch to cast a tentative, almost shy and fearful sideways glance at her, as if he half-expected her to suddenly vanish into thin air, if he dared to look at her.

She knew that look. It was the same look he sometimes had, when he woke up. And even though she suspected that the emotion behind it was not merely as adorable as its outward appearance led to believe, she couldn't prevent herself from smiling at him with just a touch of amusement.

She also couldn't prevent herself from giving into the urge to ruffle his hair affectionately.

He closed the eye again and sighed deeply, before shifting a little, so he could lean his forehead against hers. After a moment he pulled back again. He turned his head, that now came to a rest on her upper arm, and finally opened his eyes again to look at her. Lisbon saw a determined seriousness lingering in them, that she knew could easily trigger his mind going into overdrive again. Jane opened his mouth to say something, but she put a finger to his lips.

"Don't. You. Ever. Dare.", she said sternly once more and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his hairline.

"I love you."

It seemed he wasn't the only one who could strip complex situations to their basic core and justify equally complex actions with a simple sentence, that left no room for doubt.

And she had managed it by using even one word less than him.  
She was getting good at this.

He pressed his face back into her neck - she wasn't really sure if it was in avoidance or agreement - and smiled a sad smile against her skin.

"Which I know I don't deserve", he said in a very quiet voice. "And which you shouldn't."

_Avoidance it was then_, she thought.

She suddenly had the nagging feeling, that she might have to use her perfectly logical, perfectly right three-word-sentence a couple of times, before she would manage to convince him that it was in fact: Perfect. Logical. And without any room for doubt.

She sighed.

He turned his head a little again, so he could look at her more easily, meeting and holding her loving gaze, as she continued to stroke his hair soothingly, running her hand up behind his ear to the top of his head and back down to his cheek and along his jaw. Her pupils were slightly dilated and her eyes were moving constantly, rapidly now. He could see she was searching his face and eyes, trying to figure something out, something which had been on her mind for a long, long time. He tried to stay as unguarded as he had been, eyes never leaving hers, wanting her to find whatever it was she was searching for. It was not an easy task, the urge to move a facial muscle, to run a hand through her hair and distract her, to say something or to blink and reboot his gaze, was almost overwhelming. Battling years of self-inflicted programming, his own words echoed in his head. "Established behavioural patterns". He was usually good at breaking patterns. Or rules. And this was Lisbon, his Lisbon, looking at him. So this should not be difficult. But it was. For a world of reasons. Finally he noticed her pupils becoming wider still for a split second, before they retracted again. She fixed her gaze firmly on him. Whatever it was, she'd figured it out. Slowly she shook her head and said:

"Which I shouldn't… because even after everything you still think you're a bad person - and bad luck."

He gave her a sad, slightly embarrassed smile.

To be on the other end of a cold reading was quite uncomfortable.  
To be on the other end of a *successful* cold reading was even more uncomfortable.

Thankfully he temporarily lost the thought and all the others attached to it, when Lisbon moved in to kiss him and cradle his head in her hands. She pulled back after a while and looked at him with dark, serious eyes, but the corners of her mouth were twitching, announcing that a smile wasn't far behind.

"You're an idiot."

There was the smile.  
Along with another quite accurate reading.

Before she could go on to discover just *how* accurate her description of him actually was, he finally gave into the urge to distract her. He made a tiny, amused snort, raised an eyebrow and slowly reached out to run his fingers through her hair and brush a thumb against her cheek and lips, marvelling at how confident she had become of … them.

"Is that a fact?"

She smiled at him, clearly not distracted enough to fall silent or change the subject.

"Yes, it is, you…."

Jane closed his eyes for a second, as the sound he had been waiting for all day finally arrived with a soft ping above him. Perfect timing. He smiled and pressed a finger to her lips.

"Listen."

She flashed him a rather irritated frown at being interrupted.

"What?"

"Just listen."

She searched the silence between them and found nothing, but a soft pinging sound. Then another one. Then another one. Lonely. Singular. One reaching out towards the other, without success, their calls fading so fast in the silence around them, they remained unnoticed and unanswered. Then suddenly more pinging and pattering. Soft. Quiet. Like the memory of the sound of happy children's feet on a wooden living-room floor. Like a warm shower softly caressing the tension away from tense shoulders. Like leaves dancing around lover's feet during a walk in late October. The sounds, separate until now, grew a little louder, then suddenly started flowing together to find a rhythm, a key and a melody, turning from single, erratic notes into a symphony, floating gently down towards them from somewhere above. Within the symphony, some sounds stood out, like a loud light and happy ping somewhere to the left or a low and slow almost tentative 2-part patter somewhere behind them. But each one still not more than a soft whisper. Soft and soothing and somehow everywhere.

The sound of slow, steady rain.  
On the roof of the Airstream.

Lisbon tilted her head and gave him a curious look, not sure where he was going with this. Well, she had an idea _where_ this was going, just not _why_, really. So she started to put her idea into a question.

"When we were at the cabin… discussing things… you said you wanted to show me something about why you wanted this hideous silver bucket…"

Ignoring the expression of indignation on his face, she smiled and added.

"… something that requires lying down, if I remember correctly?"

He grinned, hauled himself up and shifted both of them, so he was lying on his back again, while Lisbon snuggled herself with a lazy stretching motion comfortably into the right side of his body. He draped an arm around her shoulders and she laid a hand on his chest, just above his heart. He pointed at the ceiling.

"Actually. Yes. This."

"This?"

He nodded towards the ceiling. The soft noises of raindrops on a metal roof. Soothing. Relaxing. Endless. Nice. But nothing extraordinary, really. Lisbon frowned. She didn't get it.

He stayed silent for another minute, and just as she was about to finally lose her patience and ask what exactly he meant by "this", he cleared his throat.

"When I was a kid… ", he said slowly while lacing the fingers of his left hand through her right. He stared at their hands in fierce concentration, like he was about to perform a complicated surgical procedure to join them together.

"…that sound was the most precious thing in the world to me."

Lisbon felt her heart speed up and bit her lower lip, hoping that, even though she knew he'd noticed, her clear excitement wouldn't make him stop. His words were rough, slow, unrefined and far away, from a time way before them, way before everything. And she desperately wanted to hear more of them. Jane fell silent, then moved to press a kiss behind her ear, before rubbing his cheek against her hair with a small sigh. The only sound in the Airstream was once more the soft white noise of rain on the roof.

She watched his face closely now, saw his gaze drift far away into the past, into a memory so old, it apparently took even him a while to find it.

Or to find the courage to search for it in the first place.

She reached out a hand to stroke his cheek and for a moment the corners of his mouth rose in the promise of a later smile. Finally, when the fear that he wouldn't continue got too much to bear, she asked quietly.

"Why?"

He stared at the ceiling and let go of her hand to put his behind his head, eyes still far away somewhere she couldn't follow him. Lisbon left her hand on his chest, but now used her fingers to draw slow, random circular patterns on his skin, trying to redirect all her excited impatience into the motion, while waiting for him to continue.

"It was the only thing that could make it stop", he finally said.

Even though he wasn't looking at her, he still felt the silent question in her eyes.

"My mind."

He took a deep breath, knowing he would have to start forming longer and successive sentences if he wanted to finish telling her about this before rain turned back to snow. But it was hard to wrench the words out of the past, to drag them from a locked trailer in his memory palace to his tongue and to release them.

To share them.

"I was… about six years old, when.. when … my father decided I was going to be a great asset to the show. So he started to… uh… seriously teach me how to, well,… use my abilities. Which my… my grandfather wasn't happy about, but couldn't … prevent."

Lisbon's fingers stopped moving in surprise and she pressed her hand against his chest, just above his heart. The only family member he had ever mentioned was his father and she remembered those five sentences rather well. He smiled that slightly sad and embarrassed smile again and tilted his head.

"Yeah, well… you know… not one of my favourite subjects."

She shook her head and started rubbing his chest soothingly.

"Patrick, you don't have…"

He stopped her hand on his chest, squeezing it tightly for a moment and shook his head.

"No. I do. I want to. I promised you I would."

He rearranged the cushions behind their heads, then snuggled deeper into them and took her with him, pressing a kiss to her temple to reassure her that everything was fine. When they had settled comfortably into the couch and the rainy symphony around them once more, he suddenly said in a very quiet, strangely deep voice.

"When you set the mind on fire, be careful it doesn't burn the soul."

The sentence hung in the air, between the whispering rain, between their beating hearts, between their mingled breaths. Then Jane's voice pushed it away back into the past.

"That's what he used to say to my father. Who, of course, dismissed it. The boy needs to earn his keep. The boy is gold. The boy will do wonders."

Pain started to creep into Jane's face, but Lisbon's fingers brushed it quickly, gently away, before it could settle. Jane smiled, almost a little surprised, she thought. Then he shrugged.

"But my grandfather was a smart man. And said very smart things. Mostly. Except when it came to breakfast. We disagreed very much on the subject of beans versus eggs."

Lisbon smiled and started to draw lazy pattern on his chest again. Jane's eyes were far away once more, but his fingers were starting to move over her skin now - leisurely, relaxed, gentle. So she thought it was save to pull him back into the present with a soft question.

"Was he right, though?"

"Hm?"

"Your grandfather. Was he right about… burning the soul?"

Jane closed his eyes and sighed. "I hope not. I really do. But, judging from… everything: I fear, he might have been on to something there. But he was definitely right about setting the mind on fire. Because that's what happened. That's what my father did to me. And once it had started, it…. "

She felt him search for the right words and held her breath, sensing that the reason for his reluctance to continue was not that he hadn't told anyone about this in a long time, but actually that he'd never told anyone ever before.

He had never put this into actual words before.  
And even though she hadn't heard them yet, she knew they were going to be the most precious gift he'd ever give her.

She kissed his cheek. Softly. Carefully. Lightly. Not wanting to break the spell. Not wanting to distract him, just needing to find a small release for the mighty whirlwind of emotion inside her.

If anyone had told her a year ago that she would be lying in bed with Patrick Jane making love to her, she would have laughed it off. If anyone had told her she would be lying in bed with Patrick Jane telling her about his childhood, she would have had them sectioned.

He finally located the right words and went on. Slowly. Very slowly. Every word a victory, like gradually gaining ground in an uphill battle.

"Once it starts, it never stops. The mind. It needs to be fed. All the time. To keep the fire burning…"

Suddenly the expression on his face grew lighter and he laughed.

"… and yes, I know that is a horrible Eighties song."

"I used to hate it, but now I've actually come like it", Lisbon admitted.

He frowned at her. "Really. That's interesting."

The frown deepened, then he nodded.

"Ah. Of course you would. My fault. Add it to the extensive list of things I'm sorry for."

She raised her eyebrows at him with a smirk and a slight impatient and amused huff and gave his cheek a slow, soft stroke, ending with a playful, teasing tap with one finger to the side of his nose. Only a couple of weeks ago he would have gotten an exasperated eye-roll and an annoyed exclamation containing his last name and nothing else instead.

He liked this new reaction to him casually strolling into her personal mental space in the middle of a sentence much better. Especially since he hadn't meant to do it in the first place, but…

He shrugged with something close to an apologetic grin. "See, what I mean?"

Lisbon laughed and pinched his nose gently.

"Yes, I do."

He snorted, then grinned. She went back to stroking his cheek, but when he grew serious again and she felt him leaning ever so slightly into her touch, her fingers stopped moving.

"I was just a kid. A bright kid. But a kid. And suddenly there was all this *need*. To know. To learn. To observe. To think. It never stopped. And if there was nothing interesting to investigate or observe or learn, I still needed input. Words, facts, sounds, anything really. On some days…"

He reached for her hand and laced his fingers back through hers, now finding his rhythm, the words flowing easier into the dark afternoon, accompanied by the symphony of rain outside and an ever-changing landscape of shadowy rivers, streams and waterfalls on the wall and the furniture around them.

"On some days it got so bad, I thought I'd go insane. On some days it's still difficult even now, but as an adult you find coping mechanisms, distractions - and having a full-scale, fully functioning memory palace to maintain, sift through and rearrange, is quite helpful in that respect. You learn to use all that to your advantage, it becomes natural, part of you. But as a small child it was overwhelming… and I had …no idea how to stop it. So I kept reading. Everything I could get my hands on. I remember one time, I actually stole a directory from a phone-box in the middle of the night."

Lisbon frowned at him in disbelief. "Seriously? You've read a phone-book?"

He tilted his head, then made a small whining sound, that she interpreted as "No, not really, but…"

"Lets just say, if you ever need the landline number of anyone with a last name from A to G who's lived in Scottsdale, Arizona since the mid-1970ies, just ask me. I think I fell asleep at "Gwendower, Gunther, 1235 Riverside Terrace"

Her interpretation had apparently been correct.

Jane continued. "Sometimes I couldn't sleep at all. It was all too much. I was just a kid and suddenly there was this… fire in my head and it was too bright and hot and I had no idea how to put it out."

"So what did you do?"

Jane shrugged.

"Nothing. I just… let it burn. Until my body was too exhausted to care. My father, he.. wasn't around much at night. I was alone most of the time."

Lisbon felt a pang of pain and, needing to sooth herself as much as him, pressed first her face into his neck and then a kiss onto his skin, one hand reaching back up into his hair.

"What about your grandfather?", she asked, when he kept silent long enough for her to register the endless, slightly melancholy song of rain again. Jane shrugged beneath her, an uncomfortable, sharp edge contained in the motion.

"He was… gone by then."

Lisbon felt this topic was clearly off-limits and didn't press him any further. What he was telling her was precious enough. So very precious. She kissed his neck, gave him a soft nudge with her nose, hoping it might make him continue. And to her utter surprise it did.

"I was alone. Most nights. And even though the carny is a big family and these are good people and watch out for each other, when you're six years old and live in an old creaky trailer, it can get… scary. Which was probably not very helpful, when you try to calm your head down enough to go to sleep."

Jane pointed at the ceiling.

"Anyway: This was the only thing that could calm me down. Make me feel safe. Make me sleep. The sound of rain on the roof of our old trailer. Natural white noise. Exactly this kind of rain. Soft, stable, slow. Same pattern, same speed, same volume. Just like this today. The perfect kind of rain."

When he fell silent, she pressed her face deeper into his neck and they just lay there, listening to the soft patter of raindrops on the metal roof. The silent pings and pangs, slow and lazy, like this whole afternoon, allowed a few seconds of silence to drift in now and then, before more rain tumbled down from the dark sky, hitting the roof, then sliding across it and down on the sides of the Airstream, turning into small, slow rivers on the walls and window-panes.

Lisbon felt herself slowly drifting away, Jane's warm body beside her, the sound of the rain soothingly calling to her.

"I can see what you mean", she finally whispered into the twilight. "Much better than counting sheep."

"Actually", Jane said and she grinned, when she saw his face automatically shift into his patented "did-you-know-comma-Lisbon-comma-that"-expression. "Counting sheep is an inferior means of inducing sleep, because the aim of counting sheep is simply to distract you from your worries. Which are still there. On the other side of the fence. So to speak. If instead you simply try to imagine a completely different location, not a task, but a location - say a beach or a waterfall - you're spending much more mental energy, and fall asleep faster."

Lisbon laughed into his neck, then lifted her head to smile teasingly at him.

"We're back to daydreaming, are we?"

He grinned at her, leaned in and stole a quick kiss.

"Have we ever stopped?"

She pulled his head back down again for a longer kiss, needing him to know how much his words meant to her, even though she was afraid that by kissing him, she might stop the words he still meant to share with her. She wanted him to keep talking. Telling her. About himself. He'd never done that before. It really was the greatest gift he had ever given her and she needed him to know that. Right now. So she kissed him. And he let her. And when she was done kissing him, he smiled at her and pulled her close, before closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers. He didn't say anything for a while, but Lisbon realised it wasn't reluctance, fear or regret that made him stop talking, but that he was simply enjoying a moment of being content. Happy. Safe.

After a while she frowned, when a thought occurred to her.

"How did you manage to sleep when it didn't rain?", she asked. Jane grinned, eyes still closed and mumbled quietly.

"I made my own rain. I temporarily repossessed and relocated a water hose from anyone who was stupid enough to leave it outside and unguarded. Then I carefully positioned it beside the trailer, so the water would hit the roof just at the right angle."

Lisbon laughed. Jane flashed her a short lopsided grin, eyes still resolutely shut.

"Worked rather well for a while. Then I got caught. But by then I had managed to form a stable memory of the different sounds and pattern and rhythms and the shadows running along the walls and windows and the smell of wet grass and field drifting into the trailer."

She could see his eyes moving behind his closed eye-lids, while he retrieved the image from his soul. Because that was where he had carefully stored it. Not in his memory palace. She knew his eyes usually moved differently, when he went to fetch something out of there.

Suddenly his smile vanished and his eyes stopped moving. For the first time Lisbon noticed how the rainy shadows on his face trickled down his cheeks like tears.

"So every time my mind was… burning too bright and it got… really bad, I held on to that memory."

Lisbon reached out towards the shadowy tears, that made the sudden pain on his face so much deeper, so much harder to look at. She had no idea how the rain had also suddenly managed to produce unmoving, deep, dark shadows of insomnia below his eyes. She desperately wanted to brush the teary shadows away, but they just ran over the back of her hand, before trickling back down his jaw and neck. She kept on trying anyway. It was all she could do.

The sound of rain was changing now, becoming lighter, softer, slower, the symphony almost at an end, the silence between the pangs and pings and the patter stretching further into the afternoon with each moment, single, fat drops now making high-pitched reluctant noises above the rest, surprise resonating in the sound, as if they hadn't expected to fall so fast and far. Jane's voice was almost as quiet as the whispers of good-bye from the last drops of rain on the roof.

"I still do."


	6. Magic

A/N: Sorry for the very very late update. Life has been quite unkind recently. Well, until yesterday :) I had only more three sentences left to write, when it happened and then all I was capable of typing was "renewed" and "happy". So had to postpone this update until today ;-) Anyway, thank you so so much for the reviews on the last chapter — and thanks for reading this one. It means a lot. Uh… and sorry… bit M-ish again (I keep forgetting they are still not wearing anything ;-). Have a very happy Mentalist Sunday everyone!

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The pain inside him was numb. Heavy. Grey. And horrifyingly familiar. It wound itself around his chest, his throat, his arms, his wrists, strangling him like some alien carnivore climbing plant. Its thorns bit almost leisurely into his skin, releasing a poison into his veins, that would leave him paralysed and helpless, unprotected against the rush of bad memories that he felt slowly creeping up his spine. He knew it wasn't long before they would push violently into the back of his head with an offended roar at being ignored for so long during the past few weeks - along with thoughts he hadn't thought in months and nightmares he hadn't had in days. Now his own words had invited them back in. Jane struggled against the pain and the fear, felt his body twitch forward in an attempt to get his mind moving and kick back into defence-mode. But since he was still very much unaccustomed to his shields being down all the way and with the poisonous pain already paralysing him, he knew he wouldn't make it in time.

Preparing himself as good as he could for the inevitable onslaught of horror, he hoped that he would at least find the strength not to let too much of it show on his face, so that all Lisbon would see in his expression, was a little wistful but essentially harmless sadness connected with a memory from long ago.

And not what it really would be.

The metallic rusty smell of blood mixed with the sweet vanilla scent of children's hair-shampoo. The accusing, deathly silence in an empty bed-room. The tightening of hard, cold leather straps around wrists in a locked room. The feeling of vocal chords almost ripping, tearing themselves apart in an attempt to scream all the pain and horror away without actually making a sound. The absence of warmth in the middle of a sunny day on a beach. The sight of unguarded, easy love in a man's pain-free and un-haunted eyes. The smell of that man's aftershave on a woman's skin. And most terrifyingly of all: The sight of a ghastly bloody smile on a beautiful pale face.

_Just don't let her see, don't let her…_

Cold and clammy sweat oozed from fresh wounds made by the sharp claws of fear, digging silently into the back of his neck.

And then the smells, sights, feelings and sounds hit him.

The light smell of home, sweet cinnamon body lotion and lemony hair-shampoo. The soft whisper of words against his ear. The movement of warm fingers gently curling around his wrist. The feeling of air rushing from his lungs in a surprised, unexpected sigh of relief. The feeling of warmth all around him on a dark, rainy afternoon. The faint smell of aftershave, his aftershave, on her skin. The sight of a caring, kind, endless smile on a face overflowing with love.

And above all of it, the feeling of gentle fingers in his hair and a warm hand resting protectively on the back of his head.

Lisbon almost spun around in alarm, expecting an intruder, a unicorn, Cho and Fischer or the tooth fairy to appear behind her.

Or all of them at once.

Which was a definite possibility, given that the look of utter, stunned, overwhelming surprise on Jane's face couldn't possibly have anything to do with her.

All she had done, was laying a hand on the back of his head and whispering softly that next time he couldn't find rest, instead of trying to dream about rain, he should simply wake her up. She had been about to explain what kind of sleep-inducing strategies she had in mind, hoping to make him laugh and thus draw him out of his sad thoughts, when he had opened his eyes. So she had smiled at him.

And that was when that look of utter surprise had crossed his face.

She wasn't really sure what to make of it, but for now decided not to change her tactics in cheering him up. So she suppressed the urge to turn around and instead raised her eyebrows at him in mock concern.

"What? What's wrong? You're not about to tell me I am going to be eaten by a bear in a few moments, are you?"

He hastily blinked the surprise away and rolled his eyes at her.

"Don't be such a city-girl, Lisbon. Just because this is an Airstream doesn't mean it's the wild outdoors outside. No bears or other wild animals here."

She moved quickly then, straddling him with a light laugh. When he tried to grab her, she caught his wrists and leaned forward, pushing his arms down beside his head into the cushions, pinning him down with a mischievous grin.

"Didn't we decide that I'm not a city-girl a while ago?"

He grinned back, not really struggling against her grip, but ever so slightly rolling his hips, in a motion so slow and gentle, she wasn't really sure if he was really doing it or if it was just her imagining it. The result was the same though. Her grip tightened around his wrists.

"Ah, I said not a *helpless* city-girl", he reminded her with a chuckle. "So even if there was a bear behind you, I'd be very confident you'd tackle and cuff it in under a minute."

"Or feed it Miller's disgusting chips. That might be more effective in chasing it away."

"Actually", Jane said, "they weren't that bad…"

She rolled her eyes at him and made a disgusted face.

"Urgh… and to think I've kissed you since then…"

He grinned and raised his head. She drew her face away, before he could kiss her and gave a disgusted snort.

"No. Forget about it."

"Come on, Lisbon, pleeeaaasse", Jane whined dramatically, now definitely and unmistakably rolling his hips against her.

"No."

"I brushed my teeth."

She considered his argument for a moment, then nodded.

"Now that is very thoughtful of you."

He smiled up at her.

"Don't you think so much thoughtfulness deserves a reward?"

Lisbon loosened her grip on his wrists and slowly trailed her fingers along the white, soft skin on the inside of his arms up to his shoulders and back to his wrists, apparently giving his suggestion some thought.

"You know… I think it does", she finally said in that low soft voice, that made his eyes darken and his heart-rate speed up.

He grinned up at her expectantly. She smiled and slowly, very slowly, leaned down, her hair flowing across her shoulder like dark silk, her eyes shining, hands sliding along his arms again seductively. When her breasts brushed against his chest, he closed his eyes in anticipation.

Lisbon's seductive smile turned into a grin. She rolled her hips against him, while her hands moved across his chest down to his abdomen. When it had the desired effect and he gave the softest of moans, she kissed the tip of his nose, got up and quickly headed towards the bathroom, calling after him:

"I promise you to tackle anything that threatens to eat you, how's that for a reward?"

Jane rolled off the couch with a growl that indicated that he was about to do some tackling of his own.

The little shriek that followed was clearly audible in the light, soft, last drizzle of rain outside the Airstream. As was the laughter that followed it.

About 40 minutes, 70 gallons of water and the realisation that neither of them would be allowed to gain even a single pound of weight if they wanted to put the small Airstream-shower to that kind of use again, Lisbon sat down on the smaller couch on the other side of the sink, legs comfortably folded under her, hair damp and cheeks glowing in the gloomy afternoon light. She had snatched her panties and Jane's shirt from the floor, not really bothering with the rest of her clothes. She had briefly considered putting her own shirt back on, but it was a) located inconveniently somewhere under the table out of reach and b) didn't smell half as nice as this one. She was sure Jane would find something else to wear.

Though as far as she was concerned, he didn't really have to bother.

She leaned back against the backrest and sighed. No more headache. Not even a trace. She felt comfortably tired and lazy, her skin tingling happily from the comforts of a nice, warm, long and in every sense of the word amazing shower. She smiled and shook her head. She'd never done that with anyone before, mostly because of the one hundred and one ways this could go horribly wrong - from the water turning cold, to someone slipping, to it just being… awkward. She'd thought it was the kind of thing that only ever worked properly in movies. Or maybe in big luxurious rainforest-showers in 700plus-bucks-per-per-night-honeymoon-suites. Certainly not in a tiny shower-cubicle in an old Airstream. But the way the warm water had washed soothingly over her, while Jane's hands caressed every inch of her… that definitely had worked. And they definitely had to do this again. Soon.

During the time they had spent under the caress of the hot water from the shower, the cold water from the sky had finally seized to fall. The rain had moved on, leaving behind a crisp silence, that was only pierced by the occasional pinging sound of a last raindrop losing its grip on a save surface and finally tumbling to the ground with a last splash of good-bye.

Lisbon loved how after rain like this, everything felt sharp. Fresh. New. Back in focus. Every sound. Every smell. Every breath. At in impulse she got up and padded to the door, daring to open it just a crack. She stuck her head out to see if they were alone. Jane had chosen a good location for the Airstream that shielded this side from any potential passers by. Her parked car next to it provided a secondary barrier against the world outside.

But the world outside was far away somehow and apparently empty. Lisbon waited another half minute, then opened the door a bit wider, to let the cool wind brush against the warm skin of her legs, to take in the smell of wet grass and that special smell that always lingered in the afterglow of rain. A memory of the ocean. Of the deep sea, of waves rolling against the shore. Of the endless watery plaines where rain was born. Every drop carrying a reminder of that first home, a deep cool slightly salty smell. With the melody of the rain gone, another orchestra took its place now. Within the silence, first hesitatingly quiet, random and sparse, then louder and more confident, various birds burst back into song, chirping, shouting, calling into the dark remainder of the day.

Lisbon leaned her shoulder against the door-frame and stared up at the dark clouds slowly drifting by, wondering where the rain and darkness they carried had come originally come from. When she felt melancholy rising in her heart, she turned her attention to the birds and the various melodies and songs floating through the fresh, cool air. Lisbon tried to determine if she could actually identify a certain species of bird. She vaguely remembered learning a few different bird noises during her first and only stay at summer-camp. During the last summer she was allowed to be just a child. She swallowed hard.

Before the memory could take hold, Jane's arm suddenly slipped round her waist and he pulled her against him. She was a bit disappointed when she heard fabric rustle against fabric.

So he had found another shirt to wear.  
_Shame._

She rested her arm over his and leaned back. Both of them just stood in the door for a moment, listening to the sound of birds celebrating the end of the rain.

"Are they singing louder after the rain? Or is that just a misperception?", Lisbon wondered. Jane shook his head.

"Small birds stop singing during a storm. When their world gets cold and dark, they need all their own energy to keep warm. So they fall silent. When the storm is gone, the start singing louder to show that they are still alive."

"That's life-affirming."

"Well, for male birds more like… a way to fend off potential rivals to their territory."

"So if a male bird doesn't find the strength to… start singing again after a bad storm…"

"He might lose his territory."

Jane pressed a kiss into her hair.

"And his female."

She tightened her grip on his arm, not needing to tell him how glad she was he had found his voice again after the dark and cold storm they had been caught in all those years. Suddenly a single voice rose above the others, singing louder, brighter, more refined, one melody tumbling into the next, outshining all the other birds.

"Northern mockingbird", Jane said into her hair.

"Sounds about right", Lisbon said with a laugh.

_Fits you perfectly_, she thought.

Jane pressed his nose deeper into her damp hair and mumbled.

"Did you know there are more different birds in Texas than any other state in the US? Just over 600 species."

Lisbon pushed herself against him playfully.

"If Britten had realised you were a fellow birdwatcher, he would probably have invited you to dinner."

"Nah, he already has a dinner date."

Lisbon craned her neck and turned her shoulder to look at him.

"Who?"

Jane grinned.

"Fischer."

"Fischer?"

"Fischer."

She turned a little more in his embrace so she could see his eyes and noted with some satisfaction that even though he had fetched a new shirt from somewhere, he had not bothered to button it up. Which meant she could easily slide her arms inside the shirt and around his waist. So she did. But still gave him a slightly suspicious look nevertheless. He shrugged.

"Don't look at me like that, I was as surprised about this as you are. Apparently they have history."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Speaking of which…"

"History?"

She nudged his chest with her nose.

"No. Dinner."

He laughed. "Are you hungry again already?"

She squirmed a little in his embrace, slightly embarrassed.

"No. Just wondering… did you… plan anything for tonight?"

Since the original schedule was supposed to start with dinner, she was afraid he might have booked a table somewhere. The idea of getting dressed and heading out into the world was somehow rather uncomfortable. It didn't feel right after everything that had happened today. All she really wanted, was to stay here and curl back up together on the couch, watching the day turn to night. Just the two of them.

He frowned down at her.

"No. Why? What do you want to do?"

"Honestly?"

He grinned and started swaying them a little in a slow stationary dance in the approaching dusk.

"Well, of course you can try to lie, but…"

She laughed, slid her hands under his shirt up to his shoulders and patted them gently.

"Fine. Ok. I see your point."

He pressed a kiss into her neck.

"So? What do you want to do?"

"Just… being…"

She cringed. God, that sounded pathetic. She was not going to say *that*. Not even after two rounds of mind-blowing sex and the equally mind-blowing moments of revelation and shared memories.

"…lazy.", Jane finished the sentence, thus sparing her body the need to produce hectic patches of red on her cheeks and neck if she had actually been forced to mumble "with you".

Jane fully agreed with her, that the best place to start being lazy, was back on the couch. He had no objections either, when Lisbon decided that the best place for his shirt to be, was back on the floor.

Well, for both of his shirts, actually.  
As well as his boxers.

They spent a comfortable time in silence, hands just wandering gently and slowly over skin, breaths mingling, hearts beating slowly, thoughts drifting into the dusk. Jane's eyes were closed, a small smile ghosting over his face from time to time. Lisbon saw it flicker in and out of existence, fearing, when it disappeared for the first time, that it might be replaced with sadness again. But it wasn't, the smile was just slowly fading in and out of an expression of clear thought. He was contemplating something. Whatever it was, the result of it seemed to be good. She reached out a hand and stroked his cheek, still a little surprised that he had shared that memory from his childhood with her. Knowing fully well, that once he started to tell her things like that, she'd probably want more. A lot more. Was he really ready for that? Could she just _ask_ him something? Anything? And get an honest answer without him freaking out or shutting down or having to tear his soul apart in the process? Could she ask him something now? She knew she wanted to, but maybe it wasn't a good idea.

"Just do it", he said, voice low, raspy and a little sleepy, hands comfortably folded behind his head, eyes still closed.

"Do what? Help you practice for a part in a Nike commercial?"

He chuckled. "I fear I'm not dressed properly for the occasion."

"When was the last time you wore sports shoes anyway?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

"Liar."

"August 24th, 1997."

She snorted. He grinned, keeping his eyes closed.

"See. Easy."

"What?"

"Asking."

She trailed her index-finger gently from his abdomen up to his chest, before resting her hand over his heart, her open eyes fixed on his closed ones.

"And what about answering? It that… easy, too?", she asked very softly.

He swayed his head a little back and forth signalling he wasn't entirely sure, but the small smile didn't completely move out of his face.

"No. Not… yet. But it will be sooner than expected, I think. When it's you asking", he said with a smile, voice soft but confident, reaching for her hand and lacing his fingers through hers.

"So. Ask."

Lisbon turned their joined hands, eyes still on his face, watching out for signs of discomfort, drawing in a deep breath. She decided on something light, but before she could think of something - to her own horror - she heard herself suddenly asking:

"What was he like?"

"Who?"

Shit. Too late to back off. He'd spot it, if she changed the "who" now. So she said.

"Your… grandfather."

A muscle beneath his eye twitched and the grip of his fingers tightened just a little. Lisbon flinched and back-paddled quickly when she felt the tension spread from his fingers into his arm.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't a very good question… I didn't mean… I just…"

He opened his eyes and leaned over to kiss her forehead, while brushing over her cheeks with his thumbs. Then he leaned back again, running a hand along the last slat of the window blind, as if he was checking for dust. Or water. Probably the latter, she thought.

"He was… very old-school. You know. More magic than manipulation. He was brilliant. He could do real magic. Not the kind of tricks and stage illusions that are fascinating, but make you go "how does he do that?", even before the trick is done. Whatever he did, it was… real magic."

"Real magic?", Lisbon asked a little confused.

"Real magic."

Repeating her words and just slapping a different punctuation mark at the end of the half-sentence was not really a helpful explanation. Lisbon frowned.

"Real magic like… Harry Potter kind of magic or what?"

Jane scoffed indignantly and clearly a little offended.

"No. Not fictional magic. Real magic. Enchantment."

Lisbon laughed. He started to stroke her arm, that was still lazily draped over his chest.

"Come on, there is no such thing as real magic, Jane. You said so yourself!"

Jane held up a hand. "Ah, I said there's no such thing as magic *spells*. And psychics. And probably fairies. But magic itself… that's a different story. Depending on how you define the term."

She snorted. "Yeah, right. And how would _YOU_ define it?"

"Well…"

He suddenly beamed at her, eyes bright with life. It was a sight she would never get tired of. She wanted to tell him, but then he stopped stroking her arm and lifted his hand to her face, first showing her the back of it, then turning it slowly, so she could see his empty palm. When he cast her a lop-sided grin, raised his eyebrows suggestively and wriggled his hand a little, she leaned forward, rolled her eyes with an amused huff and pressed a soft kiss into the palm of his hand. He drew the hand back, palm still open and facing her, before closing it very slowly and holding it low enough so she could see he was not hiding something between his fingers or had anything taped to his wrist. Once his hand was closed, he rotated his wrist slowly, shutting his eyes for a second, an expression of relaxed but focused concentration on his face. When his eyes opened again, they seemed of a brighter shade of blue, almost like reflecting a bright light inside of him. He brought his closed hand towards her face again with a wink and a pleading nod of his head. She pressed a kiss to his knuckles with a light laugh. He turned his fist, so his knuckles were facing downwards and cast a short glance at her to check if he had her full attention.

He wouldn't have needed to bother: Lisbon didn't even dared to blink. Or breathe.

When he opened his hand, she gasped, eyes growing wide.

A small yellow butterfly sat in the palm of his hand, delicate wings beating experimentally once, twice, before it rose into the air and circled above them in erratic happy patterns.

Lisbon stared at the yellow fluttery beautiful creature above them in open amazement. Her mind was blank, except for an excited rush of awe, a tumbling feeling bubbling up from a time long lost, the pure excitement of far away childhood, of fairy tales and Christmas Eve, of fireflies and fireworks, of seeing the first real elephant, the first real shooting star. Of magic. Enchantment. She looked back at Jane and for a second his face was blurry and she had to blink rapidly to get him back into focus. The feeling of awe and excited enchantment vanished along with the happy tears. But a small happy, soft echo of the magical excitement of childhood snuggled happily into a corner of her heart, even as she blinked the adult law enforcement officer back into existence.

She kept staring at Jane and the only reason she finally considered to start breathing again, was, that it might actually be impossible to speak without the use of air.

"How did you…?"

He crossed his arms behind his head and shrugged, grinning down at her.

"See? Magic."

He laughed as she frowned, grabbed his arm and pulled it back from under his head, turning it, trailing her fingers along the inside and outside. That was impossible, how the hell had he done that, he had no sleeves or pockets to hide this thing in, he didn't wear any clothes for crying out loud.

"Where did you…?"

She frowned in deep concentration, eyes exploring the immediate vicinity around the cushions. When she didn't find any clues there, she suddenly lifted the duvet and stuck her head and hands in, extending her search area further to the south. It made Jane's laughter hitch and turn into an entirely different sound for a moment. When her head came up again, she glared at him accusingly.

"You're naked!"

"Which you insisted upon, if I remember correctly."

"But that's impossible!"

"You were actually quite articulate and clear on the matter."

She growled at him, her eyes flashing in adorable frustration. When she tried to sit up, to get a better view of the complete surrounding area, she almost fell off the couch. Jane caught her round the waist and pulled her back towards him with a laugh.

He leaned his forehead against hers and said slowly.

"Real magic. The kind that doesn't need an explanation."

He leaned in closer and she heard him whisper softly against her skin.

"Like anything truly real."

Her lips found his then and the world fell silent. The small yellow butterfly made a last happy tumbling figure of eight above their heads, before settling down on the head-rest of the driver's seat, waving a silent hello with its wings into the approaching night.


	7. Just a Kiss in the Moonlight

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews on chapter 6. This is the last proper one and a really quiet one, like the night itself, but I hope you like it anyway. There will be a small epilogue, but I probably won't get to write it until after the finale. Thank you so so much for taking the time to read this story and for all the kind reviews and favs and I am so glad that I found the courage to come out of my shell and stick my socially awkward and shy head into this fandom. Because it's a brilliant, funny and wonderful place, full of wonderful, brilliant and kind people and and I am so glad I get to at least hover silently on the edges of it for another year :) And I'll shut up now before I embarrass myself even further. Right. Fears. Dreams. Goodbyes. And hellos. All in the silence of the night.

* * *

Sleep was soft. Calm. Silent. White as snow, warm as an open fire and slow and lazy like a cat, leisurely sprawling its body across the length of a worn, comfortable couch. That last image followed him like a soft shadow into the waking world and nudged him gently towards surrendering to the urge to stretch his own body, muscles already twitching in anticipation to move arms and legs and shoulders. But then the thought occurred to him, that maybe the image had not accompanied him from sleep to consciousness, but might actually have strolled silently into his dreams from somewhere in the real world. The fact that a warm body was currently sprawled leisurely across *him* like a happy sleeping cat on a couch, seemed to support that second theory rather well. He listened to Lisbon's breathing for a few moments, in order to determine how deeply asleep she actually was. When he was quite certain that even an earthquake up to magnitude 4.9 on the Richter scale couldn't wake her, he thought it was safe to stretch his body beneath her.

Which was when she made a small rumbly but happy purring sound.

_Theory proven._

Jane grinned to himself, biting down on his lower lip to suppress a chuckle.

While she was generally not really fussy about him moving beside, beneath or on top of her at night, she had picked up a rather disturbing habit of noticing – and waking – to even the tiniest of sounds coming from him. Snoring excluded, though that was only because he didn't. Snore. If he did, he was quite sure, that her reaction upon waking would not be as gentle and concerned as it usually was and would probably include pinching, shoving or growling. Or all three at once.

Which he would actually prefer to the concerned whispers of "Patrick, love, it's ok" that usually left her lips even long before she was awake enough to consciously form them. Or to the soft probing caress of her fingers on his face, checking for tears on his cheeks when sleep was still too heavy and deep for her eyes to open and actually see if they were there.

Not that he wasn't eternally grateful for the words that managed to pull him out of his worst nightmares. Or the touch that whisked the sadness and pain away and caressed him back to sleep.

But he'd prefer not to _need_ either of them in the first place and that was - seeing that she was already carrying out both actions _literally_ in her sleep - for her sake as much as his.

The sad thought of nightmares less frequent, but still not entirely gone, dragged him fully out of his sleep and he opened his eyes, blinking into the darkness around them. Pale light from an almost full moon wriggled softly through the small gaps between the slats of the blinds into the Airstream. Thin horizontal streaks of light cut across the table and the benches like laser-beams, some of them venturing out across the floor, reaching towards the couch and the duvet, getting broader, but becoming slightly skewed and less refined, the edges soft and the light grey. The most adventurous one flowed down from the pillow over his right shoulder and Lisbon's back, giving her skin an almost magical glow.

_From moon to Sleeping Beauty in 1,3 seconds._ Jane thought.

The light suddenly faded, then went out, leaving the Airstream in complete darkness. Somewhere outside, a lonely cricket started chirping in complete harmony with the gentle rustling of leaves in the nearby trees. Somewhere far away a dog barked. No sounds of cars. Or the faint white noise of televisions, voices, coughing, laughter or the rattling of plates and glasses in sinks, the huffing of vacuum-cleaners, the banging of car-doors or the offended growling of bins being dragged into front yards.

Just the lonely cricket and the rustling leaves and silent moon.

It was clearly past midnight, then.

The light returned with a faint tentative glow, disappeared again and finally pulsed back to life when a last cloud went past the moon and drifted away into the night.

Jane's eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now, so even without the assistance of the moon outside, he was able to see Lisbon's face. He tilted his head a little sideways so he could get a better look at her. Her face was calm, relaxed, lips raised subtly in the hint of a smile or a memory or both. But not in a dream though, because he could see she wasn't dreaming. Just contentedly curled up in a deep, white, soft sleep. Like he had been.

Though he doubted his face had looked half as relaxed as hers did.

Regular, uninterrupted sleep at night, after all, was still a pretty new and slightly scary concept to him. Because of the things that still lingered in the dark, the shadows of pain that crept into his sleeping face, the whimpers of despair that left his lips without his knowledge or control. All the things that no one was ever meant to see or hear.

Especially Lisbon.

Of course life, in its endless strive to finally bring the concept of irony to perfection, had made sure that Lisbon had become the one to _always_ see and hear these things.

The first time it had happened was just a few days after the drastic and hopefully permanent change in their relationship. When Jane had bellowed out a hoarse, gruff choked cry of terror in his sleep she had actually - still half asleep and out of instinct - rolled out of bed and drawn her gun on him, before realising what had happened. She'd stood there in the darkness, staring in disbelieve at his shaking silhouette beneath the white sheets, eyes wide, face paler than the moon-light, the gun falling out of her hand and onto the carpet with a muffled clattering sound.

It was followed by the surprised, breathless and at this point also fairly rhetorical question if he still had nightmares.

He had been ashamed, waiting for her to tell him how weak she thought he was, how she had expected him to deal with this once and for all during the two years he was away, because what else had he been doing on that island except thinking things over? How she had not signed up for this. How he of all people with his mind-acrobatics and his bloody memory palace and his biofeedback-tricks and his general high ranking on the smart-cookie-index had no excuse, no excuse whatever, for not solving and sorting out his own bloody (head)case.

But all she'd done was climb quickly back into bed, putting her arms around him and - after scolding him gently for not telling her about this sooner - kissing his forehead softly and stroking his back until he had fallen into a rare dreamless sleep. Since then the nightmares had become less and less frequent. But they were still around. Lingering. Hovering. Like a pigeon spotting an attractive bread-crump next to your foot, waiting for an opportunity to come get it. You could see it twitching erratically out of the corner of your eye, closing in, scuttling away, hovering, lingering and finally dashing in when you weren't looking.

But Lisbon was looking. Always looking. And kicking that pigeon's butt. Fearless. Determined. And without hesitation. Every single time.

_Saved by a girl._

He smiled. He was more than fine with that. He continued to watch her sleep, shifting her a little, when he realised a muscle in her neck was starting to harden. She was not going to wake up with another headache. Not if he could help it. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. She shifted at the touch, but didn't wake up, just turned her face a little and pushed her nose into his chest with a sigh.

Suddenly his heart tightened painfully and he had to swallow a distressed sound threatening to leave his mouth. He knew she'd meant every word she'd said earlier. He knew that she didn't regret a single second of this. Of them. He even knew that the demons and ghosts still slouching and groaning in his wake did neither frighten nor appal her. The silent determination with which she managed to ease his pain without sometimes even noticing she was doing it, was proof of that. And it still baffled him. Once he'd realised he couldn't fix himself, it had never occurred to him to look for any healer other than maybe time or death - which in the long run were practically the same. It certainly had never occurred to him to simply look at the person standing next to him. But here she was. Healing him. Loving him. Protecting him. Being there. By his side.

Well, technically on top of him right now, but that was just semantics, really.

He slid his arms carefully around her, taking in a deep breath and finally allowing himself to commit their combined scent to memory. He had noticed it actually two weeks ago. How late at night or in the morning there sometimes was not a Lisbon-smell anymore, but something new and yet familiar. Something like home. Sunday mornings in bed. Tea and coffee and sunlight and laughter. Them.

It was a scent close to a similar one he remembered from his old life. One he had tried to hold on to for years.

The new scent was a little different of course, but the emotions it carried where the same. It was something so intimate and unexpected, he had not dared to acknowledge it, knowing that if he did, the faint scent of a memory would not mingle with it, but finally dissipate. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was time. Right now. He pressed his nose into her shoulder and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, whispering softly against her skin.

"I love you."

Lisbon made a tiny growly noise and her nose twitched slightly.

Both sound and sight were adorable beyond measure. The smile on his face faded, as his thoughts returned to their earlier conversation. And his panic. His new greatest fear. And he had to admit, on *that* list there were a lot of really good contenders for the top spot. Up until now the one with a comfortable lead had been "Me losing Lisbon". But rushing past, aiming for the finish-line at light-speed was now definitely "Lisbon losing me."

_If anything happened to him…_

He stroked her hair gently, eyes fixed on her face, his lips tight in fear and doubt.

Maybe she'd be as lucky as he was and find someone to help her through this hell. But if not? What if he died and she was left behind to mourn him?

Not that he had any intention of dying. None at all. But it could happen. And he needed to come up with a plan in case it did. Right now. So this wouldn't kill her like it had almost killed him. He swallowed hard, the future image of her pale face streaked with tears somehow more painful than the memory of that red smiley face painted on her skin. If he died, he knew she would hold on to him. Fiercely. Loyally. With all her stubborn strength. This was Lisbon, after all. He knew she'd turn around to the empty couch behind her desk late at night, when the office was empty and ask him if he had a plan and what he thought about the case. He knew she would talk to him on an empty road on a lonely trip to a crime-scene and on the way back, headlights slicing through the darkness, she'd reach over and lay a hand on the empty passenger seat and tell him that she missed him. She would whisper good-night to his side of the bed. She would talk to him long after he'd been gone, like he had talked to Angela. Probably even more than he had. He knew she'd keep everything *him* close by. And for a tiny irrational second he regretted that he actually didn't own enough stuff for her to keep. She'd probably keep his shirts, hoping to preserve his smell on them for as long as possible. She would keep the socks, though they would probably go in a box, smelling them was really out of the question. She would read his books, fingers slowly sliding across pages, hoping to retrace his own journey through the words and pages, hoping to find a connection, to smile at the same passages he had thought to be amusing and to be intrigued at the same things he found interesting. If they let her, she would probably keep the Airstream and on rainy nights curl up right here where she was now, listening to the rain. His rain. That was now hers as well.

He stroked her hair softly, feeling the silly need to comfort her, to take away a pain that was nothing more than a remote possibility.

But a possibility nevertheless.

And his tea-cup. She could definitely keep his tea cup. And his tea. And in the moments the pain became too much, she'd brew some of his favourite tea, pour it into the cup and just leave it sitting next to her coffee, letting the smell drift through sad, silent rooms like the soft whisper of a memory. And he knew every weekend she'd open the small wooden box on the mantle-piece and carefully unfold one of his old letters from South America, so…

_Letters._

He smiled. He carefully disentangled himself from her and pressed a long, soft kiss to her forehead, when she made a small unhappy noise in her sleep. After retrieving his boxers from the floor, he carefully opened a compartment and took out a pen and paper notebook, then slid into the seat, not bothering with any other attire. He positioned the notebook in the middle of a streak of moon-light, so he could see the small brown lines on the yellow paper. He brushed away a few random corns of sand with his fingers and smiled at the faint smell of camomile tea and salt-water still contained in the pages. Then he looked up thinking.

Given the fact that the average life expectancy of a woman in the US was 82.2 years and carefully adjusting that number upwards just to be on the save side, he calculated that, starting today, he needed to write 2.236 letters. One for every week. He would have loved the idea to do one for every day, but 15.546 letters was probably a bit over the top. However, if he somehow managed to die only 6.12 years before her, then she'd have one for every day. So he would be with her. Always.

Alternatively he could, of course, just avoid getting killed. Which was, on the whole, a much better plan.

But he needed to be sure. That she wouldn't be alone in this if that didn't work out. So he started writing. Filling the first page with words of love. Another one with a funny story about Rigsby, a kangaroo and vanilla ice-cream. A third one with memories of their first meeting. A fourth one explaining how he had set up today's - or rather yesterday's escape plan. A fifth, rather long one, apologising for the first ten things on the long list of things he needed to apologise for. A sixth telling her about the time he fell off a ferris-wheel when he was ten and was left with a scar on his shoulder. A seventh describing how he had dreamt about her being on the island with him, of sunset-walks on the beach, of mornings looking at the calm sea, of warm nights spent breathless beneath a sky full of stars.

He looked over to her sleeping form on the couch then, suddenly very aware of the cool air on his bare skin, almost aching to crawl back into bed and rest against her warm body. But he wasn't done yet for a while.

He smiled as he wrote down the strangely happy memory of a conversation about apples and cattle-prods in letter number 23, when a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

The pen on the page stopped slowly.

Jane sat still, watching the yellow butterfly settling down next to him and the paper, flapping its wings nervously in the bright moon-light.

It looked like a fairy. Maybe he had been wrong about fairies after all.

He carefully moved his outstretched hand towards the butterfly and with a lot of patience and the same trick as before he got the delicate creature to settle down on his palm once more. He smiled at it, then got up slowly, slid out of the bench and padded over to the door to release it again into the wild.

It wasn't the sound of a door opening that woke Lisbon. It wasn't even the absence of Jane's body next to her. It was just a small rush of wind, carrying the cool scent of night into the Airstream. She blinked into the darkness, hands automatically reaching for Jane, even though she already knew he wasn't there, because she could see him standing in the door. She'd meant to call his name, but when she opened her mouth, her vocal cords refused to make any kind of sound. If they had, they would probably not have produced something along the lines of "Jane, what are you doing?", but rather "god, you're beautiful, you know that?" So she was rather glad her body had automatically pressed the mute button just to be on the safe side.

She stared at him.

At his silhouette in the door, moonlight catching in his hair, flowing over his his neck and shoulders, making his skin glow softly. He just stood there, calmly, shoulders relaxed, his bare back towards her, one hand outstretched into the cool night beyond the Airstream. Lisbon narrowed her eyes and finally saw what he was doing. The yellow butterfly sat on his palm, beating its wings, but strangely enough didn't really seem in any hurry to leave. Jane looked at it quietly, not moving a muscle, just patiently waiting for it to fly away. Lisbon shook her head softly. How could this man ever think he was a bad person? She was about to get up, walk over to him and press a soft kiss on his shoulder, when she suddenly heard him whisper very softly.

"I'm going to be fine."

She stopped. Moving. Breathing. Thinking.

The butterfly flapped its wings once slowly, then finally took off and after dancing one more time in front of Jane's head in a last figure of eight, flew happily off into the night. Jane's eyes followed it, while he lowered his hand slowly.

"Good-Bye."

Lisbon watched him turn his head a little. Watched the moonlight caressing his face, chasing away shadows and revealing a small smile on his lips. Watched him run a hand through his hair with a sigh, eyes searching the darkness beyond the Airstream for another moment, before he turned around and stepped back inside. He suddenly stopped and she realised he'd noticed she was awake. She smiled at him softly. Not knowing if could actually see it in the darkness, but hoping he knew she was doing it nevertheless. He smiled back at her, closed the door of the Airstream quietly and padded over to the couch. Her eyes were never leaving his, as he slowly slid back onto the couch next to her, as he laced his fingers through hers, as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. When he nudged her nose with his, she finally closed them with a small sigh.

"Hi", he said.  
"Hi", she replied.

And the night around them fell silent again.


	8. Deliriously Happy

**A/N:** So this is the chapter that was supposed to be an epilogue to this multi-chapter that was supposed to be a one-shot. I kind of wonder, if I should have waited with this, though. Might have — with a few minor changes (like starting with "8 weeks later") — fitted nicely as a story set after the finale ;-). Ah, never mind. Right. Rambling again, because: Nervous. As usual. So. Final chapter. Which I hope you like. And thank you so much for sticking with this story and for all your kind words during the briefing and the storm and the rain and the night. It means more than I can ever say.

* * *

Two figures stood in the middle of the empty conference room, arms crossed in front of their respective and respectable chests, heads slightly tilted. Sometimes one or the other would raise an eye-brow or stroke a chin in deep thought, but aside from that, they did not move. Or speak. They just stood there, watching the proceedings at the other end of the room with detached curiosity. Like studying the strange behaviour of an exotic animal at the zoo.

Though that was probably the wrong metaphor, given that one of the two men had actually never been to a zoo.

Suddenly they both frowned, both heads and torsos leaning to the left in perfect synch, before, after a moment, moving back into their original position. Like nothing had happened.

Finally, one of the men spoke.

"How long has he been doing this?", Cho asked.

"Since 7 am this morning", Abbott replied. He unfolded his arms, pushed a hand into a pocket and pointed with the other hand at the man on the other side of the room.

"But you have to give him credit for it._ That's_ determination."

Cho slowly shook his head.

"No. That's insanity."

Two pairs of eye-brows rose to new heights as the man they were watching produced something out of his bag that looked suspiciously like a Geiger-counter.

"He's just… being thorough", Abbott said in a slow, calm voice but with a slightly less certain tone than before.

"Uh hm", Cho replied with a snort.

The crackling sound the device made, also sounded suspiciously like a Geiger-counter.

"Now that is worrying", Cho remarked.

"Your suspicions about his mental health or the sound?"

Cho didn't take his eyes off the man and just said flatly. "Both."

A happy chirping sound cut through the crackle of the contamination device.

Abbott and Cho looked at each other with flat, yet slightly worried expressions, both not sure if the sound communicated relief at finding nothing dangerous or was in fact happy excitement for proving the existence of a radioactive leak in the middle of briefing-room B-1247.

Behind them, a door opened, then the sound of foot-steps bounced sharply from wall to wall, throwing weird echoes into the room. Two pairs of shoes. One flat, one with heels. One male. One female. They came to a halt. The two newcomers just stood there. Silent. Watching.

After a minute Jane leaned forward and whispered across Abbott's shoulder.

"What is he doing?"

"Accident analysis", Cho said without turning.

"Oooohhhh", Jane replied with clearly exaggerated curiosity in his voice. "Lisbon told me about the exciting turn of events yesterday. Funny accident, huh?"

Lisbon actually wanted to tell him that another funny accident was about to happen right now, if he didn't shut up immediately. But before she could, something caught her eye. She frowned.

"Is that a…?"

"Yeah", Cho said.

"Should we… uh… worry about this? I mean, we won't suddenly start to glow in the dark, right?", Jane asked, screwing up his face in mock concern.

"Might be fun", Cho shrugged. Jane appeared to give this some thought, tapping his upper lip with his index-finger, before finishing the thought and pointing the finger at Cho.

"Hm, you're right. If I ever go back to performing, that might be an awesome skill to have." He spread his hands out theatrically, like he was putting up a big flashing neon sign.

"The human firefly."

There was a mocking snort somewhere close to his shoulder and he could swear he also felt a nose bumping into it just for a moment. But maybe the combination of six and a half hours of uninterrupted sleep and the residue of the chemicals still lingering in the air were just making him happily delirious.

He had to admit, he was a little surprised he'd managed to create an effective hallucinogenic like that purely by accident.

He looked down at Lisbon with a slight frown. She looked up at him with a sweet smile, her adorable, cute nose definitely not pressed against his shoulder, but close enough that it would only take a nudge to get it there. Which was tempting. He hadn't been in any kind of physical contact with her since they'd gotten out of the car 15 minutes ago. Which was far too long.

"Human firefly? Yeah, right", she said, voice heavy with honey-coated sarcasm.

Instead of leaning into her, Jane felt now compelled to give a grand performance of mock hurt and a gruff snort. Lisbon laughed and suddenly tugged playfully at his arm.

"Will-o'-the-wisp more like."

"Confusing and leading people astray since 2002", Cho added with a movement like slapping a sticker with that tag-line across the impressive invisible neon-sign for Jane's new stage act.

Jane huffed.

Lisbon ignored the sound, looped an arm through Jane's for a moment to steady herself while leaning towards Cho behind Abbott's back, so she could whisper to him conspiratorially. "I wonder if he'd be able to biofeedback it on and off."

"We'd never need to bring a torch again. Neat.", Cho agreed.

Jane gave another irritated huff. Lisbon laughed.

_Oh, he would show her things he could biofeedback on and off later, make no mistake about that._

He fiercely tried to ignore both Cho and Lisbon, the former giving a small amused snort, the latter still laughing openly at him. What Jane didn't ignore though, was his heart giving a ridiculous happy extra and almost thunderous beat upon feeling Lisbon's hand around his arm, slowly sliding down, until her fingers curled around his.

She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, desperately trying not to grin like an idiot and instead concentrating on plastering an even more pitiful expression across his face.

"Please tell me, there is no danger of me getting all glow-y", Jane pleaded with Abbott.

"He is just being thorough", Abbott replied patiently, turning his head to give each member of his team a stern look, that was meant to say: Do not make fun of health and safety measures. Jane shot him an answering look that clearly said: Because you are close to cracking up and if you do, it will leave you in hysterics on the floor and all those years trying to cultivate this image of the strict, cool and controlled, fatherly boss will have been for nothing.

Abbott pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger, in a very determined, very controlled, very slow movement. Jane had no trouble interpreting it. He grinned broadly at the boss and rocked back and forth on his heels in amusement. He couldn't help it. He was really growing quite fond of the man.

A new and slightly louder crackling noise than the one before made Jane and Abbott turn their attention back to the scene.

Which now apparently had the word "crime" written in front of it.

"He's got to be joking", Cho said.

"I don't think he is", Lisbon said with a frown.

"Seems pretty serious about this", Jane agreed, gesturing towards the man who was busy setting up a crime-scene-tape between a bucket and a cleaning cart.

"Good morning Agent Britten! How are things?", Jane called suddenly, making Lisbon flinch.

A twitchy head appeared above the cleaning cart. Britten's glasses were already misty and his cheeks were flushed, pulsing with a deep, excited red.

"Intriguing, Mr. Jane. Intriguing."

"Ah."

"This sort of accident shows that you can never be too careful."

"What happened?"

"That is a good question, Mr. Jane, one I will find the answer to. Until then this area is off-limits. Agent Abbott, will you see to that?"

"Of course."

Britten gave a sharp nod, nose almost crushing into the cart, like the beak of a woodpecker into the bark of a tree. Then the nose, the misty glasses and the head disappeared again behind the cart.

"Until he is done, we won't get the room back and unless we get the room back, I can't re-schedule the briefing", Abbott said with a sigh. He looked at Cho and Lisbon.

"Shame, isn't it?"

"Yes, Sir." Lisbon agreed with a grave, serious nod.

"You might want to start looking for a new venue altogether. He's never going to figure this out", Cho said with a sigh. Jane made a dismissive sound and waved a hand.

"Of course he is. This is the sort of challenge he lives for.…"

Somewhere behind the cart something fell over with a loud metallic crashing sound.

Jane raised his eyebrows and then screwed up his face in serious doubt.

"… ooooooor maybe not." He shrugged. "Series of unfortunate and unforeseen events. Always hard to reconstruct even under the best of circumstances and with the brightest of minds at work."

Lisbon felt a tingly feeling in the back of her neck that usually meant something bad was about to happen. And then she saw Cho turn his head almost in slow motion, saw the muscles in his upper arm twitch, an eyebrow rising, his broad chest heaving, filling lungs with air that was needed to ask a question.

_No. No. Cho!_

Before Lisbon could do anything to communicate her distress — jump, wave, blink, frown, blush, make killing gestures across her throat — the magic words were out.

"So Jane, what do you think happened?"

Lisbon swore she heard Jane make a small happy hooting noise. His eyes lit up with joy and somehow on seeing it, every thought of tackling, pinching, dragging or even kissing him to prevent him from answering, flew out of her mind and she felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth instead. But maybe it wasn't really a smile, but just the beginning of an involuntary expression of anxiety — commonly known as a grimace.

She couldn't be sure about that yet.

"Well, Cho, I guess the IT-guy — Billy, isn't it? — had a bad day and after listening to songs about the end of the world subconsciously wanted the world to end. Therefore his subconscious made him push the globe off the table. It hit the cart and knocked off a box of drain-cleaner…"

Lisbon was suddenly close to a heart-attack.  
And very sure the expression on her face was, in fact, a grimace.

Jane felt her hand tighten painfully around his, but he ignored it and went on to stroke his chin with his free hand, apparently lost in deep thought.

"…which… fell into a bucket of water, releasing toxic fumes that triggered the fire sprinkler system, while the impact of the sphere knocked down the mops next to cart. Those then knocked over a box of floor cleaning fluid that when mixed with water produces a mountain of foam. Et violà - one nice and bubbly chemical accident for you. Easy."

Cho and Abbott stared at him. Then Cho asked.

"Why did he listen to songs about the end of the world?"

Jane shrugged.

"Some guy on the radio requested them for his friend, who also happened to be named Billy."

Jane tapped an index-finger against his forehead.

"Powerful thing. The subconscious. Picks up a whole lot of funny things."

Abbott's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"How do you know about the songs, Jane?"

Jane frowned. "It's just a guess. I was on my way home and heard that on the radio. Timing fits."

Cho and Abbott looked at each other. Lisbon stared, frozen in something close to a catatonic state, at the ceiling. Jane didn't feel the tips of the fingers of his right hand anymore. The whole room was silent. Then the contamination device gave a little happy crackle. Jane frowned.

"What? Oh come on, guys! It's not like I _know_ because I've set this up. It's just a theory."

And now the metacarpal bone in his hand was close to cracking. Geez, he'd forgotten how strong his woman was. He made a mental note not to mess with the boss while in physical contact with Lisbon. His own health and safety was clearly an issue in this kind of scenario.

Britten's head popped up again from behind the cleaning cart, beady eyes blinking behind misty glasses at the four of them. Abbott and Cho looked at each other for a long while, then said in unison.

"Nah."

"I don't believe he did it on purpose just because he heard something on the radio. No offence, but I'm not buying your theory, Jane", Abbot said.

"Yeah, man, he's right. You've had better", Cho agreed.

Jane scrunched up his nose and shook his head in uncertainty.

"Yeah… maybe…bit far-fetched", he finally agreed.

When Lisbon let go of his hand, Jane swore he could hear the bones in it unfold with a sound like crumbling paper. Britten's head disappeared again.

"Come on, people, let the man get back to his work", Abbott said and ushered them out of the room. Behind them, Britten made a cooing noise in agreement.

Five minutes later, the lift opened to an almost empty floor. Only a few people were crouched behind their desks, their expressions clearly stating that they did not really enjoy working on a Sunday. Jane couldn't blame them, especially when they were confronted with this view: Bright, warm sunlight streamed into the room, while the sky outside was a beautiful deep, cloudless blue. The storm and the rain were gone. It was, Jane thought, going to be a gloriously gorgeous day.

"This won't take long, I promise", Lisbon said, reading his thoughts and giving him a soft smile. "I just have to make two calls, write two e-mails and finish maybe one tiny report."

They made their way over to her desk and when Lisbon sank into her chair, she looked up at him with a promise.

"You won't even have time for a proper nap."

Jane grinned. "Oh, I wasn't planning on having a nap. You just take your time. I have things to do, too."

Her gaze turned from apologetic to suspicious.

"Like what?"

He sat down at the edge of her desk now, his thigh brushing her arm, his bright and happy smile making her insides melt. She was glad the arms of her chair were firmly pressed against her desk, otherwise she would have been in real danger of just sliding out of her chair and onto the floor. She really should be used to it by now, but sometimes, especially when it came on unexpectedly and full force, it almost took her breath away. He held her gaze for a long while, not moving, not saying anything, just smiling down at her. When he suddenly closed his eyes, she realised her fingers had started to caress his thigh. She blushed furiously and pulled her hand away. Jane blinked, then slid off the desk and skipped — literally — _skipped_ over to the couch and let himself fall down with a happy sigh. Lisbon shook her head.

"I thought you had things to do?"

"I have."

"This does not look like "doing" anything."

"What does it look like?"

She caught the word "adorable" a second before it could escape her mouth, but not before it showed on her face, judging by the huge satisfied grin on Jane's face. She rolled her eyes at him. He closed his.

"Write your report, Lisbon."

Finishing the phone-calls, the e-mails and the report took her about twenty-five minutes. But almost another fifteen minutes later they were still not out of the building.

A fist came down on a desk. The coffee-mug on said desk shook in fright and edged an inch to the left in fear.

"That bloody printer. Will. you. just. print. the. stupid. page."

"Yelling at it is not going to help, you know." Jane mumbled from somewhere behind the book his nose was currently stuck into.

Lisbon growled. "But it makes me feel better."

"Doesn't solve the problem, though."

She bristled. "Oh, you know what might make me feel even better than yelling at the printer?"

He slid the book down to somewhere under his nose, but didn't relinquish its protection entirely. He cast a careful glance at her.

"Yelling at _me_?", he suggested.

Before she actually could, he swung his legs off the couch and trotted over to her side.

"Call IT-support, that's what they are there for."

"This is just a printer. I should be able to use a printer. This is embarrassing."

He took the handset off the phone and held it to her, eyes pleading. Lisbon sighed and made the call. Five minutes later a very angry and familiar looking young man marched swiftly out of the elevator and came flying towards them in a straight line. That was, until he spotted Abbott talking to another agent two desks in front of Lisbon's. He swerved around a couple of desks to the left and then circled back towards them.

"What seems to be the problem?" Billy Dunmore asked when he finally reached them. Jane pointed at the printer.

"It doesn't work."

"Can you be a little more specific than that?", Billy asked without hiding an exasperated sigh.

Lisbon was about to, when Jane rounded the desk to stand beside Billy, put a hand on his shoulder, to pull him closer to the printer and pointed at the left side of it.

She frowned.

Jane had no idea why it didn't work. Actually he had barely an idea how to use it when it did work. Her eyes narrowed when Jane started talking about a strange noise he thought the ink cartridge carrier had made before. Lisbon blocked the conversation out and tried to focus away from Jane's hand that rested on the printer and instead on the other one that…

… was not on Billy Dunmore's shoulder anymore.

She frowned again. The printer made an unhappy, indignant crunching noise as Billy retrieved a small paper clip from somewhere deep inside the plastic bowels of the printer.

"Oh wow, Lisbon, look. That doesn't belong in there now, does it?", Jane said with an accusing look towards her.

She rolled her eyes at him.

Billy Dunmore tinkered with the device for another two minutes, then the angry printer spat the first page of Lisbon's report onto her desk with an irritated gruff rumbling sound.

Jane smiled broadly at Billy. "Thank you for the rescue. Very much appreciated. Billy, isn't it? Have a nice day, Billy."

Billy blinked at Jane and Lisbon in confusion, scratched his head and mumbled:

"Uh… thank you… you, too."

He took two uncertain steps back, then almost jumped out of his skin, when he realised that Abbott was now sitting on the empty desk next to Lisbon's, eyes flying in fierce concentration over the first page of a file marked "urgent".

Jane sat back down on the edge of Lisbon's desk and smiled at Billy, who was scuttling fast and silently towards the lift.

"Bright kid. Needs a bit more encouragement and appreciation though", Jane mused.

Lisbon was sliding her finished report into an envelope marked "confidential" without looking at him.

"Jane?"

"Hm?"

"Do I want to know how you sabotaged my printer and why you slipped a water-filled plastic bag with a real live clown-fish in it into the IT-guy's jacket?"

"No."

Lisbon tossed the envelope into the tray marked "outgoing mail" with one hand and switched off her computer with the other.

"Ok."

Jane looked down at her with a surprised expression on his face.

"Ok?"

She reached up towards him with a smile, fingers tracing his jaw softly, eyes bright and happy.

"Yes. Ok."

She pushed her chair back, got up slowly and moved to stand in front of him. And for Jane the world suddenly stood still, his body wrapped protectively and contentedly in her gentle, cosy shadow, while Lisbon was engulfed in sunlight streaming in through the windows behind her, her silhouette dipped in a golden glow that made her look like the angel that she was. Jane could do nothing but stare for a while. Lisbon could do nothing but stare back for a while either.

Then he slowly got up and stepped closer, sharing her personal space and the sunlight all around her, his eyes never leaving hers, hands reaching for her shoulders, slowly trailing down her arms, her fingers catching his and holding them hostage for a moment, before she let them move on towards their destination on her back. He pulled her close then and leaned into her warmth, feeling a hand reaching into his hair and another sliding gently round his neck.

The world had stopped moving.  
Now it fell silent as well.

Phones ringing, people talking, typing, scratching chairs, laughter, foot-steps, the rustling of paper - they all turned to soft silence as he closed his eyes before he finally felt her soft lips moving against his. The last thing he thought he did hear, was a tiny snort and an amused "About time" from somewhere to their left.

But maybe the combination of kissing Lisbon in the middle of the office and the after-effects from the chemicals in the briefing-room were just making him happily delirious again.

But it wasn't important.

He was deliriously happy.

And so, judging from the sigh that brushed against his lips when he pulled her closer and pushed his tongue into her mouth to deepen the kiss, was Lisbon.

Life was warm and happy and bright.

Like a sunny Sunday.

After the rain had gone.


End file.
